


Wintertime

by penceyprat



Category: My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Apartment Block, Brendon Works At Starbucks, Frank Is 'Normal', Frank keeps 'seeing' him, Gerard's 'technically' dead, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Ryan Moves In Next Door To Frank, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 113,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceyprat/pseuds/penceyprat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is twenty eight: he's mentally stable for the most part, and well nobody has to know about pills he takes twice a day, do they? He's normal now, he's a person now, he's a fucking adult with an office job and he fucking hates it and that's fine, because he got out of the mental hospital three years ago, and these past three years of mundane nothingness have been the best three years of his life.</p>
<p>Ten years ago, or so, Frank was in love with a boy called Gerard with fiery red hair and the personality of a switchblade knife, and ten years ago that boy called Gerard had killed himself.</p>
<p>Frank still saw him though: hallucinations, as he knew them to be now, and it took him years in a hospital he never thought he'd get out of to convince himself of his newfound sanity, but he was okay now.</p>
<p>Twenty eight year old Frank Iero had been officially 'okay' since he was twenty five. He hadn't seen Gerard again, and he didn't even think about the guy - he was just normal, and he was almost painfully content with being the secretary to someone with a five figure salary.</p>
<p>But of course, on one fateful morning in December, that has to go and change, doesn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brendon Urie Is My Spirit Animal

**Author's Note:**

> Right okay, I'd say this can be read as a standalone piece perfectly well, but it does technically follow on from a fanfiction I wrote in 2014 called 'Summertime', however you don't need to read Summertime to read this as all the relevant plot points are covered, and Summertime was set 10 years ago and covers how Gerard and Frank met, however it isn't the best written fic in the world, and it's only available on my wattpad, because there's like 55 chapters and that's too much effort to copy over here, but if you really do want to read that too you can here http://www.wattpad.com/story/10715306
> 
> Reminder: You don't need to read that to read this, I will cover all necessary plot points here.

Twenty eight year old Frank Iero walked into a Starbucks on his way to work.

The actual act of doing so was rather insignificant and especially in the moment: after all, Frank liked coffee, Frank liked Starbucks and the barista was kind of cute, so needless to say, he frequented the place on his commute to work.

Work being some dull office building that he didn't even care too know the name of: Frank was a secretary - he worked for a company, he was the guy that ensured the guy with a five figure salary kept his life on track, and Frank was surprisingly okay with that.

Frank had grown accustomed to the mundane and the boring, though: he relished every single moment of being normal he'd managed to treasure over the past three years; Frank had been twenty five when he'd gotten out of the mental hospital he'd spent entirely too long in.

But by now, he'd gotten pretty used to just blocking that part of his life out: he didn’t even think about the mess he'd been in throughout his early twenties, and he most certainly didn't think about the boy he'd meet when he was seventeen: the boy that had caused all of this mess.

That part of Frank's life was so fucked up that he could about convince himself that it was nothing more than a dream. He didn't need to though, because Frank was fine and fucking normal now: sure he was on medication - a twice daily reminder that he would never be as normal as he could dream of being, but besides that, he was content in the fact that he was absolutely nothing more than just a normal guy with a normal job.

Frank lived in New York now: he'd forced himself to get away from Jersey as soon as he'd gotten out, and well, nobody had blamed him, and three years ago he'd started a new life here, and not once had he ever looked back.

His apartment wasn't anything special, but it wasn’t shitty, and his life wasn't anywhere near as bad as he'd always reckoned it would be. He was bitterly single right now: his ex-boyfriend had been an ass, and well, that was something Frank didn't particularly want to think about in excess either, but he didn't talk to the guy anymore, and he found himself much preferring the company of his dogs when he curled up on his sofa after work to watch the same shitty horror movie for the twentieth time.

Frank smiled at the barista as he made his way inside: he knew the guy, this was his favourite barista - Brendon, and Frank even gave the guy the luxury of taking out his headphones as he walked in, offering Brendon Urie the gift of his conversation.

Frank found himself cringing just a little at the music playing throughout the building from the radio: sure, Frank was a Taylor Swift fan, because who wasn't? But Welcome To New York? He found himself scoffing as he compared the ridiculous metaphors in the lyrics to the world around him.

"If you're hating on the queen then I'm going to have to call that treason and kick you out." Brendon's tone was casual, unprofessional even, but Frank and Brendon knew one another well enough to even consider a use of the term 'friends'. Anyway, they were the only people in the building right now, it being six in the morning on a Tuesday and still dark outside: a fault of the wintertime, but at least in winter Frank could wear his favourite leather jacket without sweating his tits off.

"The queen?" Frank's eyes widened a little at that, leaving Brendon to shake his head at the twenty eight year old: disappointed in Frank's lack of knowledge slang terms used to refer to female pop artists - he was awfully straight for a gay guy.

"Taylor." Brendon deadpanned, and Frank found himself biting back a smile, because it was six in the morning and Brendon Urie would not hesitate to slap him straight across the face for even considering to insult Taylor Swift.

"I'm not hating, just don't particularly like this song. Blank Space is amazing." Frank pleaded his case, and wondered just when Brendon would remember what he was actually being paid to do here and serve him some fucking coffee instead of insulting his music taste.

"Blank Space." Brendon scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You're a fake fan: I bet that's the only song you've heard- what's next? Your favourite Lady Gaga song is Poker Face?" Lady Gaga was of course an icon for gay guys, and therefore, in Brendon's eyes, a religious deity.

"My favourite song from 1989 is Wildest Dreams, happy?" Frank let out a sigh, grabbing his wallet from his pocket and hoping that Brendon would translate the gesture into the fact that he might actually want to pay for some coffee now.

"Not exactly, because Out of the Woods is better, but Wildest Dreams is pretty good- I also really like New Romantics, that's just amazing, honestly I don't think Shake It Off should have been the single, it sort of-"

"Brendon, coffee." Frank snapped his fingers at the hopelessly gay barista as he gestured to the nametag on his shirt that declared his name to be Brendon and that he was indeed a barista at Starbucks.

"Oh, shit, yeah, sorry, Frankie- what do you want?" Brendon giggled, turning to the coffee machine in some attempt to actually look as if he hadn't just spent the last few minutes ranting to a customer about Taylor Swift.

"What do I always want?" Frank rolled his eyes, leaving Brendon to look very disappointed in Frank's dull choices in hot beverages.

"Come on, spice up your fucking life, dude- seasonal drinks! Frankie, pal, it's December, it's December- we have seasonal drinks," Brendon gestured wildly to the seasonal menu, "be fucking festive, you ass, have a cinnamon fucking latte, hey, spice up your life-"

"Brendon just make me the fucking coffee before I'm late to work." Frank had pretty much lost of his chill by now, and really, like that he should have been getting an iced drink, but it was December, and Frank wasn't quite that much of an idiot.

"Large- fuck- V- fuck it, why are they in fucking Italian? Do you want the bigass drink?" Brendon of course was absolutely qualified to work here and one hundred fucking percent knew what he was doing.

"Y-yes...? Can you just, I don't want to be late-"

"Whatever you say, Frankie, you're such a scrooge." Brendon pouted, turning around to the machine and to actually make him the damn drink. "Halloween's more your style, isn't?"

"Something like that." Frank shrugged it off, taking the coffee from Brendon's hands and paying him for it.

"See you, Iero. Tell me if you meet any cute guys you don't immediately want to fuck." Brendon called out as Frank made his way out of the Starbucks and to work, leaving Frank to wonder just how on earth he'd ever let himself become acquainted with such a dipshit, but whatever, Brendon was a nice guy, and he made him coffee that hadn't poisoned him, yet.

And, well, that was normal enough for Frank.

-

He arrived to work two minutes late but no one seemed to really care as he sat down at his desk, placing the half empty coffee cup on the end of it, and praying to fucking lord that he didn't end up knocking it off, again, because it really made a spectacular job of ruining his morning.

He straightened his tie and shrugged his coat off, hanging it up behind him and rolled up the sleeves of his pale pink button up shirt, before logging onto his computer and letting the wonderfully boring world of work take him away.

Because there was something about being absolutely normal and doing absolutely nothing of no significance that Frank loved, or at least, it made a welcome change from the years he'd spent in therapy and on several different types of medication, and all for the vision of his dead boyfriend just wouldn't go away.

It had all started as Frank first walked into the therapist's office when he was eighteen: his vision fixating upon that fire truck red hair of the twenty two year old who'd overdosed and ended everything in a forest that one night after their seven millionth argument.

It had been Gerard's family who'd convinced Frank to get therapy: he'd been very close with Mrs Way and Mikey, and well, they'd become his family for a while afterwards, since Frank was in an awful lack of any real family himself.

His mother had died of cancer when he was young and from then on, his father had turned into some form of sadistic lifeless alcoholic who only vaguely represented his former self: Frank felt like he'd lost his father when he'd lost his mother, if he was honest.

Frank hadn't spoken to his father in years now anyway, and Frank doubted that his father would want anything to do with a son that had been sectioned, but it didn’t matter anymore, because Mr Iero was hidden away in the depths of Frank's mind along with Gerard Way and everything that had been before or during the mental hospital.

Because Frank was fine now, honestly, and he didn't think about it at all: he had a whole new life now, and he was content with just being a normal twenty eight year old with more dogs than he had friends, but of course, who was saying that his dogs couldn't be his friends, huh?

His visions of Gerard hadn't gone away since the first time, and in fact, they'd gotten nothing but worse: violent and vivid, and of course, as the therapy continued, and the visions of Gerard began to speak to him, came the schizophrenia diagnosis, and then, like that the self hatred and self medication, and the violent repercussions, and the suicide attempt- and fuck.

Frank didn't think about the night he'd spent with the pistol pressed against his temples anymore, but he felt like it would always define him. It didn't make sense to him anymore: he couldn't understand the schizophrenic mind-set of his twenty year old self eight years on, and quite frankly, he didn't want to, but then for sure, he knew that it was Gerard, or the vision of Gerard that had been pleading with him to do it and join him in death.

It was fucked up, and Frank was sectioned after that, and therapist became more extensive, and eventually, he found the truth spilling to therapist, and pills seemed to sort something out in the end, because for the first few years, things only got worse, so much worse, fucking hellishly worse, until suddenly they slowed before fading out into nothing - it was something of miracles, as his therapist had described it.

Because honestly, not a single person reckoned that Frank Iero would ever make his way into the real world again, but somehow he had, and that was a gift- that was a fucking gift, and Frank fucking knew it, and eventually, with extensive testing, Frank was released, and of course regularly checked up upon, but now, his life was relatively normal: only having to see his therapist once every two months, just for a check up, and take the pills twice a day, and these were for his anxiety, not the schizophrenia, not the visions, not the mess.

Frank could forget all about that now.

Frank was normal and Frank was happy and Frank was going to find some cute guy one day- hell, Brendon would probably set them up, and they'd start a life together with their dogs, and they'd maybe get married, although Frank really wasn't one for marriage, but it was normal, and Frank was just that: perfectly sane, perfectly normal.

And honestly, twenty eight year old Frank and eighteen year old Frank were two vastly different people.

Eighteen year old Frank probably would have slapped Gerard right across the face and kill the guy himself before he could kill himself if he'd known what a fucking mess he'd cause him, because this wasn't a mess: the guy had quite literally ruined Frank's life, but that didn't matter anymore, because Frank didn't think about Gerard anymore, he didn't see Gerard anymore- Gerard was long dead, Gerard was long gone.

And Frank sat at his desk in an office building and replied to people's emails about seeing the guy with the five-figure salary who employed him for very little, but enough. The guy wasn't Frank's best friend, but he was by no means the embodiment of Satan - he was just a guy who was better off than him, and that was perfectly fine with Frank: his mind fixated more upon watching Netflix with his dogs when he got home, as opposed to the actual 'work' he was doing right now.

It was meaningless, but Frank reckoned his life had been so dramatic and drenched in meaning that he was just about sick of it by this point, and sure, he might have the mind of a fucking sixty eight year old, as opposed to a twenty eight year old, but whatever, he was happy, or something.

-

Frank arrived home at five in the afternoon, making his way up the excessive amount of stairs to his apartment on the thirteenth floor - really, he was unlucky as fuck, wasn't he? He found himself a little surprised to see someone occupying the apartment across from his, which had been empty for the whole time Frank had lived here, and it was near enough two years now.

Someone was moving in next to him? Hardly life shattering news, but still Frank found himself intrigued, and almost obligated to make his way over to his new neighbour's apartment, as opposed to his own, peering his head in to see a brown haired guy trying to assemble an Ikea table, with his fucking door open.

"Oh- hey!" The guy jumped up from the floor as he came to notice Frank's presence. "Sorry, I just moved in, I'm Ryan, Ryan Ross."

Frank nodded, raking his gaze across his new neighbours apartment: the guy didn’t seem to have any weapons or anything fucked up, and therefore no cause for Frank to be concerned for his life with this guy living across the hall from him.

"I'm Frank, Frank Iero. I live just across the hall." He turned around, gesturing towards the door of his own apartment with his keys between his fingers.

"Oh, that's nice- I'm glad you're not like a sixty year old woman or like a family of four or something, you're just a normal guy- you're the kind of neighbour I like, because at my last place there was this crazy cat lady, and Jesus Christ-"

"I do have four dogs." Frank added, raising his eyebrows at Ryan. "I'm the crazy dog dude, except, I am relatively normal, I have an office job, I have average life, and the highlight of my day was the barista at Starbucks threatening to kick me out because I wasn't quite as enthusiastic about Taylor Swift as he was."

Ryan chuckled at that. "You've got to be enthusiastic about Taylor Swift, come on, he was being perfectly logical there. Hey, do you want to like come in for a coffee or something, because you're like a nice guy, just getting to know you I mean-"

"Yeah, sure, free coffee: I like coffee, I like free things, sounds wonderful." Frank grinned, closing the door behind him as he made his way into Ryan's apartment.

Ryan gave up attempting to assemble the Ikea table and put the kettle on, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard as Frank took a seat on the sofa: the only actual piece of furniture in this place right now, so it wasn't really like he had all that much choice, but whatever.

"So, Frank, tell me about yourself?" Ryan threw a casual conversation starter into the air as he poured the hot water into the mugs of coffee. "Wait, how much milk, and like sugar- do you?"

"No sugar, kind of dark, some milk, but not much." Frank smiled as Ryan followed his coffee order, and really, this guy was far more fucking efficient that Brendon was. "I'm twenty eight, I'm a secretary at a company I couldn't even explain to you the purpose of. I like dogs, and horror movies and punk rock, and I don't really like wintertime, because it's cold and dark as fuck, but, I make do."

"I'm twenty six, and I'm a musician, yeah that sounds pretentious as hell, but I actually am- I have an album on iTunes, like worship me, anyway, yeah, I moved here because there's like more opportunities and stuff, you know? I don't know, I'm probably going to end up getting a day job, aren't I? I used to work at Costa Coffee, I'm from Vegas, that's interesting, I guess?"

"You could get a day job at the Starbucks down the street: my friend Brendon works there, he could very easily get you a place - they're short staffed anyway, I think?" Frank suggested, and Ryan smiled at him: a genuine smile, and well, maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

And well, Brendon was practically going to worship Frank as much as he worshipped Taylor Swift for giving Ryan this job opportunity, and Brendon this boyfriend opportunity, because Ryan was cute, yeah, there was no denying of that, but he wasn't quite Frank's type... not that Frank had any fucking idea as to that was at all.

-

Frank left Ryan's apartment at approximately six, making his way back across the wall, and locking his door behind him: feeding his dogs, and texting Brendon about Ryan and how he was totally going to love him, before putting something quick into the microwave, retrieving it, and making his way over to his sofa, grabbing his laptop and going straight to Netflix, looking for something worth watching with very little success, until he attention was dragged almost forcefully away from the laptop screen by the sound of a loud bang coming from his bedroom.

Frank rolled his eyes, not thinking too much of it: one of his dogs had knocked something off the bookshelf again, or something, but he went to assess the damage nonetheless, making his way all too casually into his bedroom, only to be stopped straight in his tracks by nothing short of a fucking heart attack.

Something Frank hadn't seen in years, but something he most certainly hadn't fucking missed either: a figure, unmistakeable with that fucking fire truck red hair.

-


	2. I Have No Self Control

Frank took three pills that morning as opposed to the one in the morning one in the evening routine he was condemned to for what felt like all eternity.

The thing, the fucking figure was killing Frank: it had kept awake all night: just lying still and sweating into his sheets; it was a waking nightmare, it was the world at its absolute worst. Because he was fucking okay and this couldn't be happening to him not now, fuck, not ever, because if Frank Iero was really terrified of anything, it was nothing other than relapse.

He'd been fucking fine for all too fucking long, but it seemed that things couldn't possibly stay perfect for ever, could they?

However he'd only seen it for the shortest second, almost as if he hadn't meant to see it: maybe his mind had fucked up, maybe it was just sleep deprivation, maybe it was just his head fucking with him, because for that one glimpse of red hair to be gone as soon as he noticed it and be actually there, well that was unlikely.

Frank attempted to calm himself down as best as he could, smoking a cigarette - a habit he'd picked up aged nineteen - on the balcony, before he took yet another pill, just to be safe, because pills fucking somehow made everything better.

Frank's faith lay in the routine of medication, because it was medication that had finally given him relief from the hell of hallucinations, and it was medication that had stabilised him and finally gotten him his life back.

He told himself that he'd be fine now, and he promised himself that if he didn't see that hair again for the rest of today then he could forget about it completely: call it a fluke, right it off as a dream, whatever, just ignore its existence.

Frank put his earbuds in as he made his way out the apartment, browsing his music selection as he locked the door behind him, and put his music collection on shuffle, and in consequence, wincing a little as he came to realise that Brendon had fucking sabotaged his iPod by putting Taylor Swift on it, Jesus Christ.

This song wasn't bad though - Blank Space - and he couldn't quite gather the motivation to change it as he made his way down far too many flights of stairs and out of the apartment building.

Frank buried all thoughts of that red hair and the trick of the light that had befallen him last night in favour of predicting Brendon's reaction as Frank told him all about Ryan Ross who was kind of cute and lived next door.

He reckoned Brendon would even give him coffee for free in celebration of the existence of a possible love interest, and honestly Brendon would hire him right on the fucking spot, despite the fact that he wasn't even in charge of the place: he just fucking would.

Frank found himself reconsidering his mild dislike towards Taylor Swift as he continued to listen to Blank Space, because this song was damn well amazing, and Frank wasn't stupid, hell, he was most certainly cold because December sucked ass, and not in the way Frank liked, but whatever, Frank lived for the summertime but there'd be a long six months until June.

Frank wasn't even quite sure quite what it was about the summertime that was so important to him, it just kind of was, and almost ominously so: without question, and well, Frank much preferred it when it was light enough to actually see where he was walking on his way to work at a time entirely far too early in the morning.

Frank found himself almost forced into removing his earbuds as he made his way into the Starbucks, and Brendon shot him an 'I had a shot this morning' grin, and Frank shot him an 'I wish you just got shot instead' one back: their friendship was 'special', to say the least.

"Frankie, baby, what will it be this morning- spacing up your life again? Or are you going to be my little baby scrooge forever?" Brendon was very, very drunk, and Frank found himself with no option but to just laugh nervously at him.

"Uhh, just how drunk are you? Brendon, honey, you're working for fuck-" Frank words stopped dead, his eyes fixated into the air.

Brendon noticed his absence of speech and followed his gaze: staring in confusion at fucking thin air.

Frank was not staring at thin air: Frank was staring at the end of his fucking life: Frank was staring at the figure that had haunted his mind for years: Frank was staring at the one thing even the medication couldn't save him from.

Because there stood none other than Gerard Way: bright red hair, and face contorted into an expression disgust and agitation. And it became apparent that this hallucination wasn't quite like the last one, because no matter how long he stared, and no matter how much he blinked, Gerard- the thing made it very clear that it in fact was not going away.

"Frankie- are you alright?" Brendon's voice suddenly became audible like the turn of a volume dial on a stereo, and Frank jumped, his gaze turning to the barista, and staring wide eyed as the figure moved away from where it had been stood to just behind Brendon: ensuring that Frank could see it at all times, and holy fuck, Frank was so fucking fucked.

"I-I'm gonna call in sick today." Frank stuttered out, grabbing his cellphone, and watching as the hallucination raised his eyebrows and smirked a little.

Brendon turned around to where Frank's gaze was fixated and again found himself utterly dumbfounded at the lack of anything there at all.

Frank muttered something to his boss about feeling sick and how he didn't get enough sleep last night, because it was totally that, and the red haired figure was in fact nothing more than a result of his zero hours of sleep last night: a waking dream brought on by what he thought he'd seen last night. Not real, not even a fucking hallucination, well not a 'proper' one.

Frank was just tired.

And he did a very good job of convincing himself as such.

"Frank, what's wrong?" Brendon asked as soon as his friend had put the phone down. "Y-you don't look very good, baby, well you look good, but... you know." The hallucination grew more agitated at this, almost seeming to glare in Brendon's direction.

"I didn't get enough sleep last night." Frank looked the figure in the eyes. "And I'm so tired that I'm seeing things that aren't there. I'm fine, it's nothing, but I'm probably going to just sleep it off and then everything will be fine."

"That's not how it works, Frankie." The voice made Frank jumped, because fuck no, that was not Brendon, and as Frank's eyes widened, turning to the hallucination, and practically dying inside at the smirk and the part of his lips. "It's me and I'm here, Frankie, you know that, don't you?" And sure enough, the figure's lips moved as he spoke.

It was evident upon Brendon's face that he hadn't heard anything at all, and Frank really fucking needed to sleep this off before he went fucking crazy, but no, he knew from all his time in therapy that he needed to confront his hallucinations face to face and tell them that they weren't real until he truly believed it, because just like that, they would indeed fade away, because after all, Brendon couldn't see it, and it was all in his head: he had it under control, and he promised himself that.

"Frankie, baby, you need to go to sleep, go home, okay, b-baby?" Brendon's words were slurred but that didn't affect their meaning in the slightest.

"O-Okay." Frank nodded, stretching and yawning a little as he turned on his heels and made his way out of Starbucks, and headed down the road: back to his apartment and back to bed, or at least that was how thing should have been, and the hallucination most certainly shouldn't have joined him outside, hell, fucking follow him as he walked, even quickening his pace in time with Frank's, because fuck, this wasn't normal, and Frank was normal, and he couldn't- fuck, no: he wasn't going to deal with this, because Frank would honestly put a bullet through his brain than go back to the hospital again.

"You're not his 'baby'." The hallucination spoke once more, but Frank settled upon choosing to ignore it, because well, it was fucking real, and it could only exist as long as Frank continued to believe it was there, and unfortunately, he seemed to be believing awful hard right now. "You're my baby, don't forget that, Frankie, sugar."

And like a gift from God himself, with that, the hallucination disappeared, and the thudding of Frank's headache seemed to come to a stop.

"Fuck." Frank cursed aloud, standing up straight and glancing around him, practically fucking celebrating to find himself alone, and free from whatever he kept seeing.

He was just tired: he was certain of that now, and he found himself walking twice as fast as he made his way back into his apartment, locking the door behind him and petting his dogs for a moment, before putting his keys down on the countertop and stumbling to the bedroom before passing the fuck out.

And praying to heaven, hell, and everything he'd ever known that when he woke up that same red headed figure just wouldn't be there.

-

Seven hours later: one in the afternoon, came a knocking upon Frank's apartment door, and it wasn't that that woke the twenty eight year old up, but the barking and howling of all four of his dogs, who were most definitely far more excited about whatever asshole was knocking on his door right now than he was.

Frank sat up, groaning and rubbing his eyes, taking a moment to remind himself why it was early afternoon and he was still at home and still sleeping for that matter. He reminded himself that he had simply been tired and that he was absolutely fine now before making his way to the door.

He grabbed his key from the countertop, unlocking it, and finding himself almost pleasantly surprised to see Ryan Ross from next door who'd made him coffee on the other side. He remembered how he'd completely forgotten to tell Brendon about Ryan's existence, and just hoped that he'd never get distracted quite so horribly on his morning commute again.

"Hey." Frank pulled on a smile, feeling one of his dogs trying to push past his legs and run free into the hallway and smother Ryan or something, and there was indeed a part of Frank that didn't blame him.

"Can I have some milk?"

"Uhh... what?" Frank stared at him wide eyed for a moment, because he was still kind of half asleep.

"For coffee, I- coffee, milk, yeah... I-" Ryan blushed until his cheeks practically fell the fuck off his face, and Frank snorted a little.

"What else would you need milk for?" Frank rolled his eyes at his own idiocy, however Ryan blushed a horrible shade of red in consequence of an encounter he was doing his absolute best to forget. "Actually, do you just want to come in for coffee? You made me coffee yesterday, so it's only fair."

"Okay." Ryan's gaze fell to the floor and all four dogs yapping excitedly up at him. "Just how likely is that I'm going to be smothered and attacked by your dogs?"

"Oh, they will not leave you alone, but they're harmless: they just want to cuddle- big fucking puppies." Frank grinned, before letting Ryan in and leaving the poor homosexual milk man to get murdered by his dogs as he went to make coffee, because Frank was nice like that: anyway, if people couldn't put up with his dogs, then Frank wouldn't put up with them, and that was that.

"You really like dogs then?" Ryan made just about the most awkward conversation starter as he took a seat at the weird breakfast bar thing that Frank never even used because the sofa was like ten times as comfy and well, he just didn't give a fuck.

"Could say that." Frank grinned, pouring them both their coffees, and not doing nearly as well as Ryan had yesterday, but whatever, Frank wasn't destined to be a future barista at the Starbucks down the road, was he?

"Not a cat person then, I assume, which is good because I'm not either." Ryan continued to make awkward stabs at conversation, and Frank let him, because Frank was just a nice guy, and Ryan was nice, albeit a little awkward at times.

"Nah, never really been one for pussy." Frank smirked, breaking down laughing at his own joke, as Ryan sat there in something like disbelief. "I'm gay, in case you didn't get that."

"Oh, yeah, same to be honest." Ryan added all too fucking casually, and Frank could only grin, because Brendon was going to fucking marry him as well for this, like Jesus Christ, at this rate there really would be some weird milk and coffee based polygamous relationship going on between the three of them.

"How annoyed would you be if I set you up with my friend Brendon?" Frank asked, kind of casually just throwing the question out there like it directly related to Ryan's sexuality and wasn't just something Frank was going to do anyway in some ridiculous last ditch attempt to get the barista to shut up about Taylor Swift for once.

"Is he cute?" Ryan asked, blushing a little and Frank really did not know how to respond to that.

"I guess, I mean, all I can see from him is that fucking ego, so if you can see past that then I'm sure he's worth your time, anyway he works at that Starbucks I mentioned." Frank gave Ryan his coffee and sat down beside him, beginning to sip his own.

"Why aren't you dating him then?" Ryan asked what indeed was a genuine question, yet still practically made Frank sip his coffee out. "You're both dudes who like dudes and if he's not bad looking-"

"He's like my best friend, yeah, but not my type, not at all, and there's no way I could date someone that interrogated me on Taylor Swift every morning. Anyway, I'm not all that fussed with romance and relationships, I have my dogs, and it's all fine, I have Netflix- fuck yeah, I'm married to Netflix."

"What is your type then?" Ryan raised an eyebrow in Frank's direction, looking him up and down. "If you're going to get me a date then I feel obliged to return the favour, don't you think?"

Frank shrugged. "I don't know- I guess, I don't really have a type."

"Alright then, describe your exes to me: all of them, yes, I don't give a shit, all of them." Ryan grinned what was nothing short of a miraculously homosexual grin.

"I only have two... one of them turned out to be an asshole... the other... I don't want to talk about him I-... it was ten years ago, he's d-dead now... anyway-"

"Oh my god, Frank!" Ryan exclaimed, neglecting his coffee to wrap Frank in a serious fucking hug right there, because when it came to hugs, Ryan Ross most certainly did not fuck around.

"It's fine, it was ten years ago, so, like, anyway, I'm not really looking for anyone right now, I mean, if I see someone I really like, yeah, I'll ask them on a date, or whatever, but I'm not like on the prowl, actively searching or something." Frank let out a sigh, burying his face in his coffee mug, because he was okay, and it was ten years ago and he totally wasn't hallucinating his dead boyfriend, again.

"Okay, I just want you to be happy, okay, you're a nice guy and you don't deserve to be sad- hey, why aren't you at work today?"

"Oh, yeah, I called in sick." Frank put his mug down, letting out a sigh, and trying his best to bury all memories of what had really happened in Starbucks this morning. "I didn't any sleep last night, and yeah, my head was fucking with me."

"I hope you're okay now." Ryan seemed to look genuinely concerned, and well, this really was new.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I slept it off, I'm super good now." He promised Ryan with a smile, and Ryan was just about as convinced as Frank was: Ryan hardly believed him at all.

And to say the least, Frank was absolutely fucked.

"So, do you want to take me to meet Brendon at the weekend or something?" Ryan asked, finishing his coffee and standing up.

"Oh yeah, sure, I could get him to come over here: that'd be easier, and yeah, I'm pretty sure he's going to absolutely love you." Frank pulled on a smile as he too finished his coffee and got up to show Ryan out.

"We'll see, maybe I'll think he's an asshole, we'll see."

"Oh but he is an asshole, but you're gay as fuck, you're supposed to like asshole." Frank smirked, waving as Ryan made his way back across the hallway and into his own apartment. "Fuck." Frank cursed aloud for the second time that day, making his way over to the sofa and practically collapsing right then and there.

He laid there for a moment: evidently still tired, but his dogs ensured that he was not going to sleep as they insisted upon climbing onto the sofa and cuddling with him, well, whatever, at least he had four fucking dogs to cuddle with, and they were most certainly better than a boyfriend in Frank's forever alone mind-set.

He grabbed his laptop, browsing through Netflix like yesterday, because well, Frank's life was fucking eventful, but Frank loved nothing more than he loved the mundane and normalness of his day to day routine.

Frank let out a sigh, because this was his life now, and really, his younger self would have dreaded and hated every moment of this, but Frank wouldn’t even be lying to himself if he said that he was content with living like this.

He had two friends, he had four dogs, he had a job, he had an apartment, he a laptop, he a Netflix subscription.

What more could he need?

-


	3. In Which Frank Asks Brendon To Buy Him A Dildo

You would expect that in a 'waking nightmare' where the monsters of your darkest nightmares have the courage to stand out in the real world amidst the sunlight, your sleep would be somewhat peaceful in comparison, but Frank Iero was very quick to learn that it was nothing but the opposite.

He'd dreamt about G-him, the figure, whatever, for the past few nights in a row now, and even though he hadn't seen- hallucinated it properly since, he still found himself horribly unable to rid all, or even any thoughts of the figure, the hallucination, Gerard fucking Way, from his head.

It was a Saturday, and only just, and perhaps that was what kept Frank staring at the bright red LED numbers on his alarm clock for just so long after he'd woken up in nothing more than a cold sweat.

Frank watched as the time ticked from one thirty seven to one thirty eight and let out a sigh, before getting out of bed and slamming his hand against the wall: a vague guess in the dark for the location of the light switch - eventually, he found it, and a bright light poured into the room, waking up the two dogs that had curled up at the end of his bed, but seriously, this was his bedroom, and if they were going to sleep in his bed, then they were going to have to put up with him waking up at half one in the morning.

Frank turned on the main light of the apartment, and turned the one off in his bedroom, and receiving some sort of appreciative grunt from his dogs in reciprocation of his kind and considerate gesture.

And with that, Frank made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water: holding it loose and kind of awkwardly in his hand, before glancing to the packet of cigarettes on the table top and taking them outside onto the balcony with him.

Sleep seemed like a lost cause at this point, and well, Frank was really more irritated than frightened. After all, he'd been sectioned with schizophrenia for years, one little nightmare wasn't going to scare him, was it?

But of course, it was less of the nightmare and just what was causing them that was the issue here, but Frank chose to brush it off as he placed his cup of water down on the table on the balcony and lit himself a cigarette.

Being just about quarter to two in the morning now, the skies were pitch black, well, more of a inky dark navy blue colour: illuminated in places from street lights and shop signs, car headlights and the odd star. In a city like this, you could never truly get real darkness, and Frank wondered whether that was a bad thing or not, because sure enough, it polluted the skyline, but with hundreds of little lights across the city below him, Frank couldn't help but feel a little less alone.

Frank hadn't really ever seen true darkness, except perhaps that one time when he was sixteen, in the woods behind his house: the night he'd camped out there alone and just watched the world and the stars, and basked in the pitch black above him - it was true solitude, but then, Frank felt the least alone he'd been in his life, but then again, that forest would always be special to him: whether it was the person who'd showed him it - his mother - or the person who'd left him there: curled up on the ground with the pills beside him... Gerard.

And honestly, Frank had been doing so fucking good when it came to not thinking about him, even with these 'hallucinations', but right now, he knew just how unbelievably fucked he was, because whether it was from the thoughts of him plaguing Frank's mind, or the habit he'd picked up in the absence of his boyfriend and motherfucking second hand smoke.

Frank glanced at the cigarette between his fingertips and glared it like it was nothing but his worst enemy. Of course, Frank was wrong, as he had no greater enemy than his own mind and the corrupted nature of his subconscious, but he was desperate in his search for something other than himself to blame.

Gerard was the obvious option for the blame, but Gerard was out of the question, and Frank thought fuck it, because it was two in the morning, and he'd give himself this one chance, just once in these past few years to spend some time thinking about Gerard Way, and then, when he woke in the morning he'd be fine, and there'd be nothing in his mind other than the anticipation of Brendon's grin when he met Ryan today.

Frank shook his head with a sigh, finishing his cigarette, and lighting another one as Gerard always had, and with very little regard for his lungs, for his body, for his mind, for everything inside screaming at him not to give in, but fuck it, Frank reckoned he could control himself, and these hallucinations, but really, Frank had no idea what he was getting himself into at all.

"Gerard..." The word slipped through Frank's lips like a sigh, and he almost regretted it the moment he heard the words again in his own ears, but there was a certain liberation in the sensation, whether imagined or not, of the weight being lifted from his chest, because Frank couldn't deny that when he uttered his dead boyfriend's name, his heart did indeed feel a hell of a lot less heavier.

"I miss you so much." Frank's voice cracked a little as he spoke, but it didn't matter, and it didn't matter how fucking sentimental and broken his pleas became, because the dark skies and the small hour upon the clock brought him a certain of comfort, and a certain kind of loneliness, but maybe, sometimes, Frank needed to feel alone.

"Why the fuck- why, why did you do it? Jesus Christ, your note was so short, barely a fucking sentence, and you were gone in seconds, in minutes, it didn't make, you didn't make sense, and I've replayed that day through my head at least a thousand- no, a million times by now, and still, still I can't fucking figure it out: I can't piece you together - I never could, and I never will." Frank shook his head firmly, exhaling loudly before continuing. "And, that morning we woke up together and it was amazing, and it was our last time, and I was so clueless, and I sometimes wonder if you were too, or whether you knew from the very second you woke up that day that you wouldn't be there for the next. And then the argument, and I never got to say sorry, and I've said it to myself a million times and it's still never going to be enough, I-"

"It's enough."

The voice nearly had Frank falling straight off the balcony and to his death, which really would be very unfortunate, but Frank constantly thanked God for railings from that moment on, as he felt his chest colliding with the metal barrier protecting him from the plummet to his death beyond.

He dropped his cigarette, though, and Frank was indeed a little disappointed, because cigarettes weren't exactly cheap, but the cigarette was soon forgotten entirely as Frank turned to face- fuck, another one, another fucking hallucination and this was definitely his fault: he never, ever should have let himself focus upon Gerard, because the less real Gerard seemed, the less real the hallucination was.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost." Gerard, or the thing, the hallucination, whatever, the thing that only Frank could see, the voice that only Frank could hear spoke, and whatever it was to Frank that moment spoke with a slight chuckle, a smirk, and an uncomfortable raise of its eyebrows.

"Frankie, you don't have to apologise for me killing myself, you know, you had nothing to do with it: it's just the things in my head, the chemicals, the mess, and us, well, we were secondary, I do hate to say it, but you were always second to the thoughts in my own head, because you know, no matter how much you know someone, you always trust yourself more?" 'Gerard' looked Frank up and down and brushed a lock of bright red hair behind his ear. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

Frank found himself unable to speak, unable to comprehend, and unable to steady his thoughts and scream at himself that Gerard wasn't real long enough to prevent himself from nodding, because maybe Frank liked this all a little too much: he liked pretending, he liked fooling himself into believing that Gerard was still there, and apparently that the overdose was in no way related to the argument Gerard and Frank had encountered only an hour or so prior that day.

That day, that motherfucking day... ten years ago now, or near enough.

"You want to tell me what it was about?" Gerard asked, with something like a smile, but somehow, it seemed to flicker, falter, a little, like it wasn't really there, like he wasn't really there, which of course he wasn't, but as time went on and Gerard continued to speak, and to say exactly what Frank needed to hear, he was finding it harder and harder to convince himself of the truth.

"I-" Frank began, lips parted before he could stop himself, because it was indeed Gerard that forced his words to a halt, and not his own verbal ineptitude.

"Cigarettes." Gerard exclaimed, eyes widening a little as he motioned to the packet on the table beside the long abandoned glass of water. "Don't tell me you smoke now, Jesus Christ, Frankie, your lungs are going to shrivel up and decay and you're going to end up dead like me, and we don't want that now, do we?"

"Gerard..." Frank formed his first word since he'd started hallucinating that night, well that morning, because technically two was in the morning, if only barely, and of course, that word had to be 'Gerard'.

"Mmm?" Gerard pulled his gaze away from the cigarettes and to Frank immediately: his eyes widened and quite frankly, he looked rather taken aback by the fact that Frank had spoken at all.

"You're not real, you're a hallucination, you're a part of my imagination, and you're in my head, I can control you, technically, so... Gerard, tell me you're not real- just fucking do it."

Gerard's face contorted into an expression that resembled some odd mix of confusion and despair. "Of course I'm real, Frankie, how could we be having a conversation if I wasn't real?"

"Fuck." Frank cursed under his breath, because he'd been so fucking convinced that his little plan was going to work there, but of course, it became rather apparent that he'd been nothing but proved wrong. "You're not real, because you're a hallucination, and I'm just talking to myself here, and I really need to stop hallucinating now and go back to bed so I can wake up to meet Ryan and Brendon tomorrow."

"Brendon's the one who calls you 'baby', isn't he? I don't like that- wait, do you really think I'm a hallucination?" Gerard stepped back a little at that. "Like for real? Why the hell would someone like you be hallucinating? Are you taking drugs too, Frankie?" He gestured back towards the packet of cigarettes, and Frank wondered if the hallucination was going to fade into one of his mother at any minute now.

But Frank had never ever hallucinated his mother, which was odd- in fact, Frank had never ever hallucinated anyone other than Gerard, which was even odder, but of course, Frank would have much preferred it if he'd never ever hallucinated, period.

"I'm hallucinating you, because- fuck it, I don't even know why I am again, like all of a sudden, but I hallucinated you because I'm schizophrenic, I have hallucinations, and that's that, and up until last week, I hadn't hallucinated for over three years, I'd been fucking fine, and then you have to come here, and fuck this all up, don't you?"

"Frank, you're not schizophrenic-"

"Bull fucking shit!" Frank snapped, losing all patience with the hallucination and its continued persistence with its beliefs regarding its state of existence.

However it seemed that Frank happened to forget about just how dead Gerard was, and perhaps just how fucked up he was for a minute there, as he went to slap him right across the cheek, but of course, the hallucination seemed to fade away into nothing around him.

Frank just stood there alone on his balcony for a minute: his heart hammering in his chest because he'd totally forgotten that this wasn't just Gerard and that he wasn't eighteen again for a good minute there, but now at least he had a sure-fire way to make his hallucinations fade away, but still, that didn't make him feel any better at all.

Because this wasn't the kind of thing where Frank could be satisfied with coping, with compromise, this was Frank or Gerard, his sanity or his hallucinations, his mind or his heart, and Frank thought far too long about just shooting himself then and there as he climbed back into bed at two thirty seven.

-

"Good morning sleeping beauty!"

Frank was awoken by a yell and a slamming of his bedroom door that made him severely regret ewer trusting Brendon Urie with a spare key to his apartment.

Of course, trusting Brendon Urie with anything, or just in general was an all round bad decision, and Frank was almost laughing himself simply for ever even considering that he wouldn't hate himself for those spare keys at any point in his life.

"Fuck off." Frank groaned, rolling over in bed and burying his head back beneath the covers. "I'm tired."

"Yeah, whatever, but me and pretty boy are here now-"

"Pretty boy?" Ryan exclaimed, appearing from what seemed to be nowhere, making it evident that he was not quite as supportive of this 'nickname' as perhaps Brendon would have liked him to be.

"Yeah you're pretty and you're a boy." Brendon rolled his eyes and turned back to Frank, who was currently groaning into his pillow as he attempted to forcefully remove himself from existence right then and there. "Come on, sleepy boy, get up will you?"

"Make me coffee, will you?" Frank groaned back, turning over, and making an awkward kind of eye contact with Ryan, because this was kind of different with Brendon, whereas he'd barely known Ryan a week and Frank was pretty sure that he was at least shirtless right now.

"Whatever you say, baby boy-"

"Do not fucking call me that." Frank groaned, but complied, sitting up in bed as Brendon smirked to himself and made his way towards the kitchen.

"Brendon's interesting, I guess." Ryan added as Frank rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I mean, he's not what I expected, but I don't really know what I expected in the first place, I kind of do like him though."

"Oh Ryan, that's wonderful, and it would be wonderfully appreciated if you could go and rely that information to him instead of me because I've just realised that I'm naked right now, and, no do not tell Brendon that before I've had time to get dressed, okay?" Frank made it rather evident that he really was anything but a morning person, of course, he managed to get up ridiculously early on an almost daily basis for work, but that was different, and he most certainly didn't often find himself waking up with the kind of memories that he couldn't quite work out the reality of.

As Ryan left the room, Frank grabbed the nearest items of clothing - what he'd worn yesterday, but whatever, as long as Brendon didn’t find out that he was naked, because well, fuck.

Frank couldn't quite remember whether the events of last night: the ones that involved a certain red haired hallucination were reality or nothing more than figments of his imagination: pieces of a dream world, or something else entirely.

But whatever they were, they were most certainly unsettling, and they were most certainly the cause of Frank's trembling fingertips as he finally managed to dress himself and half heartedly ran a hand through his hair before stumbling out into his apartment, only to be met with the sight of, oh-

"Oh..." And that was not Frank's voice that had made that sound.

It was Ryan's, logically, because Frank was stunned into silence, and Brendon's mouth was otherwise occupied.

As Ryan jumped, noticing Frank stood there, still in absolute shock, Brendon moved too, getting up off his knees, and barely even batting an eyelash in Frank's direction.

"Good morning, Frankie." He added after a moment, perhaps just to break the silence, as Ryan and Frank stared one another down, because well, Frank had really not been expecting this at all.

"I guess- I guess you've met then..." Frank trailed off, making his way over to the sofa and sitting down and grabbing his laptop from the floor.

"Going to be a little antisocial git, are we, sleepy boy?" Brendon giggled, grabbing Ryan's hand and pulling him over to the sofa beside Frank. "Frank, can we look at your porn history?"

"Why-" Frank seriously didn't know how he still hadn’t punched Brendon Urie in the face.

"Because you're going to be really left out with me sucking Ryan's dick all the time so I feel oblige to get you a dick to suck or whatever, so like Craigslist- can I borrow your laptop?"

"How about you just buy me a dildo?" Frank asked in just about the most sarcastic tone known to man.

"Because you already act like you've got a dick up your ass, you don't need two or that poor little asshole of yours is gonna fall right out." Brendon pouted, turning to Ryan. "And that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?"

"Ryan, slap him for me." Frank mumbled, burying his face down against the sofa cushions.

Ryan giggled nervously, blushing a little as he turned to Brendon. "I-I..."

"You what, pretty boy?" Brendon raised his eyebrows, snatching the laptop away from Frank's grip while he lay unaware, and for a moment, yes Frank really did care, but soon enough he just lay back down and let it happen.

"I-I-..."

"Stop embarrassing him, Brendon." Frank mumbled, closing his eyes, and finding himself having little difficulty in the matter of getting back to sleep.

"You're embarrassing yourself here, Iero, gay porn!" Brendon exclaimed in his best straight person voice, and since this was Brendon, it was the needless to say that he encountered great difficulty in actually pulling off a convincing voice.

"I'm a gay man." Frank retorted, wondering why he hadn't seriously considered punching, or well, murdering Brendon Urie sooner.

"So am I- so's Ryan- hey, we should have a threesome-" Brendon's eyes lit up with excitement, and well, Frank did really start to get scared at that point.

"Hey, Brendon, did I tell you that Ryan literally lives across the hall, like one metre out of my front door, so you two can fuck off and finish what you were starting earlier, and I can go back to sleep, so fuck off with your boyfriend, Urie, please."

"You'll be able to hear us from across the hall- anyway, Ryan's not my boyfriend."

"Is he not?" Frank raised an eyebrow, faking some form of interest.

"Just a pretty boy, but that can change, can't it?" Brendon grinned, grabbing Ryan's hand once more. "Oh, and yeah, I think we might have got spunk on your kitchen countertop so if I were you I really wouldn't prepare food again, like ever."

And with that, the two slammed the door behind them, and Frank was left to throw his head back against the sofa and reassess his whole friendship with Brendon Urie.

He'd even nearly drifted off at that point, but of course, of course, just before sleep claimed him once again, Frank Iero’s eyes flickered upon just once and caught a glimpse of an absolutely unmistakeable shade of red.

-


	4. Punk Rock Passive Aggressive Homosexual Pixie Boy Aesthetic

Frank hadn't been exactly have the best of times after the apparent split with his sanity, but right now he was living for the little things, and he really liked these jeans.

The jeans, which were, of course, black in colour, suitably represented his punk rock passive aggressive homosexual pixie boy aesthetic, and didn't actually bunch up too much at his ankles, which was the absolute penalty he paid everyday for being short. And of course, since Frank was about four centimetres tall, he was overjoyed to see that his jeans only bunched up halfway up to his knee

"Those jeans make your ass look great."

And with that voice: all too fucking familiar by this point, Frank's heart sunk to the bottom of the motherfucking ocean, exhaling sharply as he met the hallucination's gaze in the mirror, because Gerard was a hallucination, and Frank needed to keep reminding himself of that.

"Frank, you don't look happy to see me, you know? And I get those vibes, I really do, because you're being so obvious about it, but your ass in those jeans was something I couldn't ignore, okay?" Gerard- the hallucination grinned a little, stepping closer to Frank. "Are you going to say sorry for slapping me the other day?"

"I didn't even slap you because you're not real, you're a hallucination, Gerard!" Frank raised his voice, pulling himself away from the mirror and spinning around to meet Gerard's gaze for real.

"You don't seem to think so." Gerard muttered casually, taking a seat on Frank's bed behind them. "You called me 'Gerard', you wouldn't call me that if you didn't think I really was me."

"Oh fuck off, it's early, and I have something to do today, probably..." Frank trailed off, biting his lip and cursing silently as he came to remember that he was planning on spending the Sunday with nothing but himself and possibly Netflix.

"Frankie, you do know this schizophrenia thing is bullshit, don't you?" Gerard gestured for Frank to sit beside him on the bed, and needless to say, Frank didn't oblige. "Look, you're perfectly healthy, you're perfectly perfect-"

"Say that to the years I spent in a mental hospital." Frank lost his temper before even really knew what it was, and he considered slapping 'Gerard' again, just to get him to fuck off, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it, and for what reason, Frank reckoned he'd never know.

"You were depressed, Frank, I know these things, I know what I'm doing, I-" Gerard was cut off suddenly, but not by Frank, his words almost seemed to just stop mid sentence. "Frank, is there anything I can say to make you believe me?"

"You can have a fucking argument with my therapist if you really want to, but, like you're in my head, so, I'm sure you'll have a few problems with that." Frank rolled his eyes, grabbing a jacket from his bedroom floor. "I'm going out." He added as the explanation for his hallucination, because Frank liked to be kind to the figments of his imagination like that.

"I'm not in your head, Frank, you're just the only one who can see me - there's a difference." Gerard got up from the bed, stepping forward and opening the door for Frank. "Come on, we're going out, aren't we?"

Frank stood there stunned into silence: butterflies jumping hurdles in his stomach as he came to accept the fact that he'd just hallucinated the opening of his own front door, because there was no way that hallucinations could open fucking doors.

"Fuck..." Frank trailed off, shaking his head firmly, blinking a million times and turning away. "I'm not hallucinating open doors as well, Jesus, fuck, this is- fuck, why am I even talking to you- fuck, I'm talking to myself, I-"

"Frank, the door is open." Gerard stopped him before he collapsed in a wreck on the floor or something. "I'm not a hallucination, Frank, I'm a ghost."

"Fucking prove it!" Frank was screaming and he didn't even care if Ryan could hear him from his apartment right now.

"Walk through the fucking door, Frank." Gerard's voice was stern, and Frank found himself considering it, before fucking drowning in flashbacks, memories: the reality of what had happened last time. "Come on."

"No, because I listened to you the last time you told me to do something, and that... that fucked me up big time, Gerard." Frank glared 'Gerard' or whatever the fuck he was with every bit of anger he had. "That time you told me to kill myself, don't you fucking remember? Or another hallucination of you, or whatever."

Gerard's eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry." He reached across, closing the door, and turning back to Frank. "I wasn't in a good state then... I... I... it's hard to explain, and it's harder to explain to someone who won't listen and won't believe you."

"Okay then." Frank exhaled loudly, meeting Gerard's gaze with all the strength he had in him. "If you're really not just in my head, then fuck off, just fuck off, you're making my life, or what's left of it hell. You've ruined it twice before and I'm not going to let you do it again."

"But that's who I am, Frank, it's like I was made for nothing else than you and your emotions." And Frank really couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but Frank went with the likelihood that he was.

"Just leave me the fuck alone, Gerard, please. I have my life now, and... you have your fucking death, or whatever, you chose that. You chose to leave me, you chose to fuck me up like this: you chose to make me hate you."

"No, I didn't Frankie, I was just trying to save you, I-"

"Save me? From what? Insanity? Schizophrenia? Myself? You fucked up there, didn't you?" Frank rolled his eyes, turning away from Gerard and wondering whether he should even be letting his hallucinations get quite as real as this.

"I..." And Gerard was speechless, and Frank was fucking done and he ensured that Gerard was well aware of that, as he spun on his heels and slapped him across the cheek.

Or at least, tried to.

His hand almost seemed to be repelled from Gerard, like he had a fucking force field around him or something equally as ridiculous... something equally as ridiculously concocted in Frank's own head.

"Doesn't work, Frankie." Gerard stepped away from Frank a little. "I'll leave you be if you really want me to, but promise that you'll look after yourself, okay, because it hurts me to see you hurt- fuck, it hurts me when other people call you 'baby', you're my 'baby', always will be."

"You should have thought about that before you decided to kill yourself then, shouldn't you?"

And with that, Gerard was gone.

But Frank wasn't smiling, Frank wasn't happy, Frank wasn't even relieved.

He just hurt inside, he ached, and fuck, even a part of him missed Gerard enough to plead with his brain into believing in the hallucination that just wouldn't leave him alone. 

-

"Buttplugs, Frank, buttplugs!" 

Frank threw his head against the rain stained Starbucks window and contemplated whether Brendon was worse on or off duty; with the guy stood serving people at least Frank could have some peace and quiet, but as long as Brendon wasn't the one making his coffee, at least he could be sure that it had been made right.

So really, Frank was just praying that Brendon deemed Ryan's butt cute enough to hire him, because well, it was Brendon and Frank wouldn't put hiring some on the basis of their butt past him. In fact, Frank wondered if he'd put anything past him.

Of course, Frank had a lot more going on in his head that moment, but he'd much prefer that there wasn't, and perhaps the twenty eight year old really would give anything and everything to forget all about Gerard Way and join in Brendon and Ryan's conversation about buttplugs, even if Frank didn't particularly feel all the comfortable talking about buttplugs in a public place.

But whatever, it didn't matter, and Frank forced a smile in mimic of Ryan's laugh, because Brendon had said something funny, he guessed, or at least, he read it off Ryan's face, and really, it didn't matter all that much if he was still utterly clueless as to just what they really were discussing, did it?

Frank didn't consider weighing up the pros and cons of each situation worthwhile, and took another sip of his coffee, and thanked himself for getting, as Brendon would put it 'a bigass drink', because if he met a guy with a dick as big as this coffee cup Frank would never ever get out of bed.

Just how quickly and just how easily Ryan and Brendon had, well clicked together kind of irked Frank in a way that it shouldn't have, because Frank wasn't even jealous, and of course he had no reason to- Frank was just... he was just... alone, and he knew that deep down, or something.

He took another sip of his coffee and cursed public health and safety regulations for not allowing him to smoke inside because it was cold and motherfucking rain out there, but still, that did nothing to subdue his cravings for nicotine.

Frank wondered if he should quit, but then wondered what the point was, because well, Frank wasn't at all fussed either way; he wasn't addicted, and he didn't want to quit, it was just... Frank smoked more as something to do, a way to pass the time than anything else.

Frank smoked because... why shouldn't he? Lung cancer, yeah, lung motherfucking cancer; Frank had little to no concern for his lungs and if they should become affected with cancer, because he had the same sort of relationship with his life as he did with cigarettes - he didn't really give a fuck either way.

And that kind of mentality would really throw up several million red flags with any therapist, but Frank was just overjoyed that everything he was seeing right now was real, and he treasured that thought as he finished his coffee and found himself forced into Brendon and Ryan's conversation as a result.

He really was a third wheel here, but Frank didn't particularly mind; he wasn’t particularly bothered about relationships and love, or at least he did a pretty good job of convincing himself as such, because he laughed along with Brendon and smiled like everything was alright and that he totally hadn't just had a fucking mental breakdown just yesterday because his dead boyfriend had told him his ass looked good in a pair of jeans.

Frank considered talking to his therapist, but found himself brushing the thought off the very moment it had entered his head.

"Right, right, so Frank, Ryan says that he sees no point in buttplugs, back me up here, like-" Brendon giggled a little as he spoke, and nearly spilling his coffee as he did so, which Ryan of course found ridiculously cute.

"They just sit in your ass!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes widening, before glancing down at his coffee. "There's not enough milk in this- I'm gonna get some milk." And with that, he stood up, drink in hand, on a quest for milk, but of course he'd made the amateur mistake of not taking Brendon with him.

"Have you ever had a buttplug in your ass?" Brendon asked far too fucking casually in Ryan's absence.

"I... no... I can't say I have." Frank shook his head, blushing a little, because well, it was kind of awkward.

"That dude over there keeps looking at you, Frank." Brendon added a moment later, having taken a moment to stomach Frank's lack of experience with buttplugs, which was evidently stressful for Brendon.

"What? Who? Me?" Frank exclaimed, sitting up straight- well, gay, and meeting Brendon with wide eyes.

"No, when I said Frank, I meant Frank fucking Sinatra." Brendon rolled his eyes, and pointed across the coffee shop. "That dude, with the beard and the dark hair, he's kind of cute I think, not my type though, but he keeps fucking staring, dude."

Frank met the guy's gaze across the coffee shop and smiled, blushing a little as he did, and the guy did much the same in just an awkward fashion.

"If you're not going to get his number, Frank, then I'm going to get it for you-" Brendon announced, only to be cut off as Ryan returned from his milky quest, only for the guy to call him over to his table and point vaguely at Frank, who of course, blushed again. "Looks like Ryan's getting in there first."

"His name's Ben, and here's his number." Ryan slid the piece of paper across the table in Frank's direction, leaving the twenty eight year old to look up across the coffee shop and smile at 'Ben', before putting his b=number into his phone, and mainly just because the guy was practically watching his every move.

'Hi'

He added a quick text too, before putting his phone down, and leaning back against the window, craving a cigarette more than ever before, and with even less he could do about it, because that guy- Ben would definitely ambush him on his way out for a smoke.

Okay, 'ambush' was the wrong word; the guy looked nice and cute enough, but Frank had enough shit on his hands right now, and well, if Ger- the hallucination had reacted in such a volatile manner at Brendon calling him 'baby' then he couldn't imagine just what the fuck would happen if he actually started flirting with someone else.

Perhaps Frank should quit smoking.

Perhaps Frank should quit dating and romance altogether.

Perhaps Frank wished he could.

-

"Are you going to call him?"

Brendon and Frank were sat in Brendon's living room at eleven that night, with Ryan having gone to see his uncle or something that Frank hadn't paid nearly as much attention to as he should have done.

"Who?" Frank asked, turning away from the TV screen to look at Brendon.

The two were sat watching some shitty rom-com, which was pretty much the only thing on besides the porn channels and Brendon was apparently boycotting porn 'permanently' now, but Frank knew he'd catch the guy having a wank the very moment he got up this morning.

That was just Brendon, though, and Frank was more than used to that and him by this point.

He was just kind of content, or something... something close to it, anyway.

Close enough.

"Ben, you know the guy from Starbucks who gave you his number, duh." Brendon rolled his eyes, because the possibility that Frank could have forgotten this seemed impossible to him, because well, Brendon couldn't possibly believe, let alone imagine the kind of things that really went on in Frank's mind.

Of course Frank had no desire to tell him, and the twenty eight year old reckoned that things would indeed stay that way.

"I don't know, I mean, he's just a guy-" Of course, Frank knew that this was a sentence Brendon wasn't going to let him finish the very moment he'd started it.

"Excuse me? Our queen, goddess, lord and saviour, Taylor Swift didn't go through multiple heartbreaks and shitty boyfriends who treated her horribly and terrible breakups and heart wrenching crushes just for you to say 'it's just a guy'." Brendon looked genuinely disgusted, and grabbed his cellphone from the coffee table. "I'm unfriending you on Facebook."

"Okay." Frank mumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest, and just trying to focus on the TV screen, despite how little interest he had in whatever the fuck they were even watching right now.

"Wow, Frank, I'm unfriending you and all you can say is 'okay'?" Brendon's eyes practically fell from their sockets as put his cellphone back on the coffee table. "You're a really shitty person, you know that? It's like you don't value this friendship at all."

"Thanks." Frank rolled his eyes, sitting up and moving closer to Brendon. "You're my best friend, I'm just tired, you know."

"Yeah, I didn't really unfriend you on Facebook." And it was very much as Frank had suspected.

"I know." He let his lips twitch up into a small smile, because this kind of casual fucked up friendship thing he had with Brendon really did work for him at least nine times out of ten.

"I did send you like fifteen game requests, though, which is probably just as bad-"

"Worse." Frank corrected him with an over exaggerated grimace. "I'm going to block you from sending me game requests."

"You can do that?" Brendon exclaimed, sitting up straight at once.

"Yeah, it's under the like blocking settings bit-"

"Fuck, remind me to block everyone on Facebook." Brendon grinned, putting his arm around Frank's shoulder, and pulling him in closer. It was just a friendly kind of thing, and it was just their kind of thing, and everything was okay, it really was.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that: you're such a likes whore, Brendon." Frank rolled his eyes, watching as the next episode of what was probably the worst show ever started on screen.

"I'm just an all round whore, Frank." Brendon corrected, looking entirely far too proud of himself. "At least I'm not you, it's like you're a fucking prude, Frank, you had like one boyfriend and that was it, it's like you don't even care. You're going to be thirty soon, you know."

"Don't remind me." Frank rolled his eyes, groaning a little. "I'm not prude, I mean, I just haven't met the right guy yet."

"You believe in all this soulmates bullshit?" Brendon raised his eyebrows at that. "Hadn't expected that from you, of all people."

"I don't... anyway, if it was even real I reckon I've already met and fucked it up with mine." Frank shrugged it off, knowing that this was really the number one topic to avoid with Brendon, but it was late and Frank was tired and he really did not care.

"What? You don't mean-"

"No, Brendon, I dated this guy when I was seventeen and he was my whole fucking world, my fucking everything, and- fuck..."

"You've never mentioned him before." Brendon pointed out what Frank already knew all too fucking well.

"I don't tend to... it's... it's difficult. Look, face it, Brendon, there's an awful fucking lot you don't know about me, and I can imagine that you could say the exact same thing."

"Why don't you mention him if he meant so much?" Brendon found himself asking before he could stop himself, because well, Frank was evidently uncomfortable, but Brendon, was well Brendon.

"He died." Frank admitted, exhaling loudly, and moving away from Brendon, instantly regretting ever even bringing it up.

"I'm sorry." Brendon added after a minute of silence. "You really think he was your soulmate?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, I guess, whatever soulmates means anyway, that was him, him and me, I really loved him and he really loved me- he- he was complicated, but I knew him well, I always did... he was just one of those people... you know the kind that you know are important from the very second you meet them, but you're just never sure why. He was beautiful, and perfect, well not perfect, but perfect in his own way... he had a lot of flaws, but I wouldn't have had him any other way. I miss him a lot, sometimes, I guess I don't let myself think about him more often than not, but... I don't know, I can't help it sometimes."

"He sounds lovely... I'm sorry." Brendon stared off into the distance: a genuine sadness in his eyes, which kind of threw Frank off a little.

"It's okay. It's enough."

And Frank looked up, glancing around the darkness for the red haired man smiling at him, but his heart stopped entirely as he came to the set in stone conclusion that he and Brendon were indeed completely alone.

-


	5. A Raytorocal Question

Frank had always wondered why people made figurines and little ornaments from glass, especially the kind of glass that shattered easily. Perhaps it was so that when the little ornament inevitably broke, the shop could hope that the owner had been attached enough to it, to buy another and replace it.

But it wasn't like that.

People made ornaments out of glass, because despite its obvious flaws, it was indeed beautiful. 

Surely looks didn't weigh up to practicality at all, but Frank wasn't the kind of person who bought ornaments, let alone glass ones in the first place, so he brushed the thought aside the best he could, and turned his gaze away from the shop window, continuing down the high street.

But the thought haunted his head like no other, and Frank found himself considering just how much beauty was truly worth, and whether it was worth the inevitable disaster. Perhaps it linked more to impracticality and impulse: the one thing you know will fuck up in the long run, but puts a smile on your face in the moment.

Frank knew an awful lot more about the life of impulse than he'd really like to, and of course that was of no fault other than his own, and perhaps the one of the red haired boy he'd known once ten years ago.

The _dead_ red haired boy, because that's what Gerard was now _dead_.

And Frank hadn't seen him for a week, and his heart was lifted from the darkest depths of his ribcage into the light in what he'd told himself was relief, but what really couldn't help but contain regretful elements.

Because Frank missed Gerard.

Of course he did; he was only human, after all.

He reckoned Gerard had been like the pretty glass ornament, and he reckoned that the fateful day in the woods when he was eighteen and had found his boyfriend dead, curled up next to a box of pills was the shattering.

But one thing Frank did indeed find comfort in within the aforementioned analogy was the knowledge that pieces of glass didn't ever fit back together again: things could never be the same with Gerard, they never would, and in a way, that put the aching drum beat inside Frank's heart at rest.

Of course, with broken glass, you had to be careful, because if he lingered too long in the mess, he'd soon find the glass shards cutting his skin as they clawed at all hope and light he had left.

And Frank reckoned that truly was a depressing, yet philosophical start to his morning.

Because believe it or not, he hadn't found himself on the high street just to gaze mournfully at little glass figurines and have a metaphorical moment in relation to his tragic backstory, but because it was Brendon's birthday in a week, and well, Brendon was a surprisingly hard person to buy for.

Okay, well, he wasn't, but Frank was in no way comfortable with buying his best friend a dildo for his birthday, or in fact any other sextoy, and anyway, surely that was Ryan's job now. And there was also the excessive amount of milk he'd asked for, which Frank had thought best to just ignore, because Brendon, was well, _Brendon_ , and some things just did not make sense.

He'd probably just get him some records or something easy like that, because Frank was a very unoriginal person when it came to birthday presents, and it fucking sucked, but whatever, Brendon wasn't going to give much of a fuck about his shitty ass gift when he had a boyfriend and the inevitable birthday sex that Frank had gone without for ten years now.

And Frank was _not_ thinking about his eighteenth birthday and Gerard Way as he browsed the record store, and Frank was not thinking about that striking red hair and beautiful hazel eyes as he flicked through the records absentmindedly.

Because Frank was okay, and Frank was over it, and he had soppy analogies about glass to keep him happy, and it was just a fucking _fling_ from ten years ago, but it really wasn't, because Frank had _loved_ Gerard and there wasn't one single question about that.

But Frank couldn’t help but feel that it was less of the relationship and more of the aftermath that had affected him overall, and fuck, that was a horrible realisation, because face it, Gerard Way was really not worth the hallucinations, the anxiety, the depression, the suicide attempt- Jesus, _fuck_... Gerard wasn't worth it at all.

But he was.

Even now, Frank felt in his heart that he really was.

And perhaps this served as evidence of the fact that he really wasn't over it at all more so than the hallucinations ever had.

But at least they were gone now, and these feelings would be too, or at least Frank could hope, because hope was all he had left at this point.

Because Frank couldn't spend his life obsessing over the boyfriend from ten years ago that he was low-key in love with; he wasn't Pete Wentz, after all. Like seriously, he'd start writing seven billion songs about Gerard in a moment at this rate.

"You okay?"

Frank didn't frequent this record store or this part of town often, and the first impression he really didn't want to make was breaking down and crying in the shop, but he looked pretty close to doing nothing but that at this point.

"I'm fine." He shrugged it off, mumbling, and only glancing up at the guy behind the counter moments later, and well, nearly having a heart attack as he did so. " _Ray_?"

The guy looked up, his gaze settling upon Frank for a moment, before his eyes widened in almost the same amount of shock as Frank's. " _Frank Iero_... I was _not_ expecting this-" Ray made his way across the store and practically tackled Frank into a hug as he did, thankfully, the place was empty, otherwise, they'd really be making quite the scene.

"How many years ago was it now?" Ray asked, he kind of knew the answer though, so in a sense, it was a _raytorocal_ question, pulling away a little, and smiling at Frank as he looked him up and down.

"Ten, near enough, I'm twenty eight now." Frank groaned a little as he spoke his age aloud, because he was getting disastrously close to thirty right now, and that really wasn't something he was much of a fan of.

"It doesn't even feel like that long ago since you were eighteen and in my music class at school, god I was such a terrible teacher- I quit teaching actually: a few years after you left, still do music, but like record stores turned out to be my thing recently. God, it's so nice to see you again, do you live here now?"

"Yeah, I do, it's a bit of a way from here, but yeah." Frank nodded, smiling to himself, because goddamn, he had missed Ray Toro.

"Now you sure you're okay, Frank, because I'm not going to let you lie to me, okay?" Ray raised his eyebrows, grabbing Frank's arm and looking at the twenty eight year old like he was still a member of his senior music class.

"It's... just _Gerard_ , you know... I... I'm fine, for the most part, I guess, but I can't help but think about him sometimes."

Ray nodded, sighing as he pulled Frank in for another hug. "He meant a lot to you, I know that: anyone could tell."

"He still does." Frank admitted, biting his lip as he did so, because _fuck_ , where had that come from?

"You've got to move on, though."

"Yeah." Frank nodded frantically, pulling away from Ray. "Of course I have, I... just a difficult day, that's all."

"Okay, look, hey do you want to give me your number and we can go get coffee or something and catch up when I'm not on duty, how about that?"

"Sounds good, sounds great."

And Frank smiled his first genuine smile of that day.

-

"Cheer up, Iero." 

Brendon gave Frank a playful shove, before turning back to stare at his boyfriend's ass, because well, what in the world was Brendon Urie better at?

Being an ass himself, _perhaps_.

"I'm just... _thinking_."

And Frank was: hazel eyes on the window and the morning light and the world outside: the darkness of the wintertime and everything that was holding him back. Today was one of those days.

Today he just wanted to run the fuck away from everything and everyone without ever looking back, because today he wanted to be free, or at least as close to free as he could fathom being.

Today he kind of missed something, but it was something that he couldn't quite place, and today he felt like smiling even when he was sad inside: today was the best and the worst, and Frank was still ordering the same goddamn thing at Starbucks, and Brendon Urie was still laughing at him for it.

Things never changed, not really.

Perhaps Frank wanted them to, perhaps not, but whatever it was that had kept him up all night was certainly _something_ : Frank just hadn't figured out what.

But perhaps there was even little use in doing so, when Frank was all smiles and distant thoughts: his brain filled with strings of conversation he missed, and everything not worth his time, and Frank regretted ordering the same thing at Starbucks for the first time in his life.

But he stared down at his drink and basked in the realisation that there was very little he could do about it now.

Perhaps that was kind of comforting, perhaps it wasn't.

Frank thought best to just drink his coffee before it got cold, regardless of frivolous thoughts and stupid ideas. That was all we were after all: stupid ideas, and cold coffee cups, and early mornings in coffee shops on weekends with friends we didn't choose.

Frank didn't know what he wanted, and he wondered what had come upon him this morning, because he felt exciting, he felt meaningful again, he felt like the rebellious teenager inside, and he felt like he even deserved to be wearing this leather jacket, but fuck, did that matter? No.

Did anything? No.

Frank finished his coffee in four minutes, and found his gaze upon the world outside within seconds; he wondered why they really did spend so much time in this Starbucks when there was a whole world out there. Frank wondered why he let himself be so cooped up and content, and then Frank realised.

It was adventure and extravagance that had ruined him, and that was a risk he'd taken once but never again, or at least that was what he told himself every night before he fell asleep, and perhaps it'd be like that for the rest of his life, or perhaps poor Frank Iero wouldn't live past twenty eight.

He considered the possibility like he never had before, because he could be hit by a car any day, have a heart attack any minute, and in reality, what had he died for? Nothing. What had he died with? Nothing. What was he? Nothing.

Insignificance was truly a crushing feeling, but at least he was alone.

He hadn't hallucinated in well over a week now, and the solitude was the best thing he'd ever had, and he missed Gerard, but he missed the real Gerard and not the one his mind had concocted.

Sometimes he thought about going back to Jersey: going back to it all - Gerard's house and those living room walls painted that horrible sickly shade of yellow, that high school that had beaten him down everyday of his life, that forest that had meant so much to Frank, his mother, and to Gerard too.

He missed it an awful lot, and he missed it like he missed Gerard: in awkward spurts, but what was to be expected? With Frank Iero there was no normal: sporadic was practically his middle name, and it most certainly put 'Anthony' to shame.

Maybe Frank just missed the summertime and the feeling of being young, and being in love and never having to worry about anything.

And right there, in Frank's head, he was seventeen again, awaiting adulthood and stupid birthday fucks, and Gerard's promises when he'd kept them, and kissing in the forest, and blushes and secrets, _harmless_ secrets, and not the ones that had become of them in the end.

Frank wondered just how many not quite so harmless secrets Gerard had taken right to the grave; Frank reckoned it'd be better if he didn't ever find out.

Sometimes this didn't feel real, sometimes Frank himself didn't even feel real, but he tasted coffee on his lips, even if it was the same everyday, and even if sometimes the taste seemed to come more from memory than from reality, but he felt heartache and friendship, and the world around him, and this was the realest thing Frank Iero had ever known.

"Frank, are you still alive there?" Ryan gave his arm a tug, jolting Frank upright and awake, and releasing a rather overdone fit of laughter from the lips of his two friends.

"I'm just tired." Frank shrugged it off, turning to face the two of them; Brendon didn't seem convinced, but he was Brendon and he was never _ever_ satisfied with anything, and that was a truth that Frank had just come to accept.

"You're always tired, aren't you?" Brendon raised his eyebrows, taking a sip of his coffee. "Get more sleep, Iero, you wreck."

"I'm not the one who insists on coming to Starbucks at eight in the morning on the weekend!" Frank protested, sending some form of half-hearted death glare in Brendon's direction.

"It's emptier, and we can always get the window seat, so you'll have something to stare out of instead of joining in our conversation like a normal human being." Brendon rolled his eyes at Frank, who flipped him off, before glancing back at the window and the slowly lightening skies.

"It's so dark in the wintertime."

"It's the way the planet's angled at the sun, Frank, there's very little we can do about it." Ryan pointed out, laughing a little.

"I know, it's just... it makes me think, that's all." Frank stretched his arms out above his head and turned back to face the two of them. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"You look like you've got a lot to think about." Brendon noted, checking his cellphone absentmindedly.

"Not really, I just think about this one thing a lot."

"Care to enlighten us as to what's so magical about this one thing that ensures it consumes all your time?" Ryan raised his eyebrows, not really expecting a response, but trying nonetheless.

"Nah," Frank shook his head, "I don't think you'd understand."

And neither Ryan nor Brendon could even fathom empathising with the feelings in Frank's head right now, but they were meant to be Frank's alone, perhaps only having a slight hope of being understood by the man with scarlet hair that sat out of view of the three, but remained listening intently.

-

Frank reckoned he seemed to be spending his whole goddamn life in the Starbucks down the road where Brendon Urie worked, and was more that pleasantly surprised to find that Ray had insisted upon taking him out for coffee in an utterly different part of town.

This place was small, and had the same vibe about it that the coffee place in Belleville did - the one Gerard had taken him to, of course, but that wasn't what Frank was thinking about as he made his way inside, and this time he wasn't even lying to himself about it.

"I'll order if you want - I'm paying anyway: don't even try to talk me out of that one. What do you want?" Ray pulled his wallet out of his coat pocket and turned to Frank, who found himself just a little flustered under the pressure of a question so important as 'what coffee do you want?'

"I don't know..." Frank trailed off, his gaze falling to the floor. "How about you surprise me?"

Ray smiled at him. "Yeah okay," and with that, Frank was left alone to take the window seat, because Frank was always such a fucking sucker for window seats.

This cafe definitely seemed to have a better view than the one he found himself living in, but neither of them were exactly postcard worthy, but then again, Frank had never been expecting anything near that calibre.

He took off his coat, hanging it on the back of the chair, and setting his gaze upon the blue grey afternoon skies as he waited for Ray to return. He didn't bother himself with watching his old music teacher from across the room with a desperate gaze, because the chances of Ray being abducted in the two minutes it took him to order coffee was unlikely, and that was a risk Frank was just willing to take, and out of common sense, not apathy.

This place was most certainly far too similar to that place back home, and suddenly Frank was back there and he was meeting Gerard in need of answers, and Bert McCracken was making himself known for the first time, and everything was starting to go wrong, but back then, Frank didn't quite know it yet.

Perhaps it was better when he'd been so blissfully naive, perhaps it wasn't, but what did it matter?

And soon enough, Frank was forcefully removed from his train of thought as Ray took the seat opposite him, placing their cups of coffee on the table. "I got you a peppermint mocha, because seasonal drinks are a vital part of my life as a responsible, sensible adult."

"It's weird that you're not my teacher anymore." Frank noted, taking a sip of his drink, before placing it back down, and forcing his gaze away from the world outside and onto Ray and the conversation they were supposed to be having.

"It is. I haven't taught you in so long, though." Ray rolled up his sleeves before continuing. "You doing alright now?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Frank nodded, smiling perhaps a little too enthusiastically, but Ray felt inclined to believe him, because well, he didn't _want_ anything to be wrong, and if he could continue blindly in that belief, then dear god, he _would_. "How about you? How are you? How's your life?"

"I'm good: I have a house out of town, and I own the record store- god, Frank, I even have a wife: her name's Christa, she's lovely and you should meet her, you know?" Ray's face practically melted at the mention of his wife, and Frank couldn't deny that it was adorable, and he was just so very glad that at least one of them had made something worthwhile out of their life.

"I'd love to." Frank found himself smiling back at Ray, before taking another sip of his coffee. "I'm not doing quite so well on the love life front though, unfortunately."

"You're only, what? Twenty seven, though, you haven't hit thirty yet - you don't need to worry. I'm thirty five, it'd be tragic if I was still alone at this point." Ray reassured him with a grin, and well, any reminder that Frank was at all close to thirty was really anything _but_ reassuring.

"I'm twenty eight." Frank corrected him with a shrug. "And I still can't get over my first boyfriend, and that's pathetic, Ray, come on, don't even try lying to me."

"You'll met the right guy soon enough, I promise you." Ray paused for a moment, following Frank's gaze outside. "Maybe you're just not putting yourself out there, you know?"

"Maybe it's kind of hard to do that when I'm still thinking about G- _him_ all the time." Frank shook his head, biting his lip as he made significant effort to avoid Ray's gaze.

"You don't say his name?" Ray raised his eyebrows at that, not wanting to make a comment upon it, and mostly for fear of upsetting Frank, but he would be lying to say that there weren't half a dozen things he would have screamed at the guy if he could.

Frank shook his head. "No I don't. I'm trying just to forget about him completely, but it's just not working, I mean, I _was_ fine, but I'm really not anymore."

"Come on, Frank, that's not realistic: you're never going to forget about him completely. He's important and you have to understand that, but he's also never coming back, and you have to understand that too."

"You still talk like a teacher." Frank chuckled, leaving Ray somewhat taken aback.

"I do _not_!" He exclaimed, only half offended.

"No, it's just... it's like... it's good advice, you know what you're saying - maybe it's not a 'teacher voice' maybe that's just you, I don't know... I haven't seen you in ten years- _god_ , ten years. It's just like a blur, you know? These past years don't even feel real half the time."

"I know how you feel." Ray chuckled, stretching a little. "Time just flies past when you're having _'fun_ '."

Frank remained silent in response to Ray's laughter, but the red haired figure hidden away from view cracked a smile, as he leaned back in his seat.

-


	6. If You're Gonna Be Murdered, Be Murdered Once You've Had Coffee

Frank Iero woke up one morning to see the curtains open.

It wasn't exactly a marvellous sight, but Frank was pretty damn sure he'd closed them before he'd fallen asleep last night, but then again, Frank reckoned he had very right to be sure of himself, after all, it wasn't like he was frequently hallucinating his dead ex-boyfriend up until about a week and a half ago, was it?

Frank stretched a little, turning his alarm clock off, and met his reflection in the mirror; he was tired and it was evident upon his face, but whatever, it wasn't like he had anyone to look pretty for, was it?

Frank laughed at his reflection, pulling a shirt on before he was forced to look at his just how pudgy he was getting any more, and with that, he met his reflection a newfound kind of courage and sense of self worth that led him to dismiss the curtains.

And just like that, Frank Iero set foot out of his bedroom, totally sure of the fact that he'd simply forgotten to close them the night before, because that was the logical answer here, and Frank wasn't an idiot, and he knew that he was susceptible to being fucked over by his mind, but he most definitely wasn't going to let it win - at least not this time, anyway.

Frank brushed his teeth for what seemed like at least three hours, and they most definitely didn't look any whiter as opposed how they did when he'd started, but he soon brushed the thought off, finding himself staring at his reflection in the mirror once again; it was a weird kind of staring - it wasn't vain, or self-loathsome, it was just, _just_ , Frank almost felt as if he needed to keep looking at himself to know that he was really there, because fading away into nothing felt all too easy at this point.

Frank washed his hands in water far too cold, but with the shitty heating in this place, and the fact that it was wintertime, what else could he expect? He brushed it off, drying his hands on his shirt, and made his way into the kitchen.

You can't usually pinpoint the very moment that your entire life seems to fall apart; it tends just to be a gradual kind of slope in self-destruction that you tend not to recognise, let alone give a fuck about, before it's all too late, but Frank knew in the very moment that he walked into his kitchen that Tuesday morning that _everything_ had just fallen apart.

Because Frank _could_ have left the curtains open last night as he stumbled into bed and passed out, but he most certainly could _not_ have set himself out breakfast.

He approached the set table with apprehension and distrust, almost expectant that it'd vanish away into thin air within seconds, but he dipped his finger into the coffee and felt the liquid piping hot against his skin, and _fuck_.

Frank pinched himself as he ran his finger under the cold tap, but he didn't wake up, and well, Frank reckoned the burn to his finger really would have done the trick already.

Frank didn't eat the breakfast; he didn't even _question_ the breakfast because he knew what it was and who could have possibly put it there, but he wasn't going to let himself accept it. Frank _ignored_ the breakfast and got ready for work in five minutes flat.

He grabbed his cellphone from his bedside table and plugged his headphones in, walking out of his apartment and passed the breakfast as fast as he could, and _ignored_ how the door opened for him, because it wasn't real, and he just- _no_.

Frank stopped in front of the door, reaching out to touch it, and closing it, before opening it himself, because this way there wasn't any solid proof that what he kept seeing was real, because perhaps, just _perhaps_ , Frank would even prefer insanity itself to this.

But Frank was anything but sure of himself at this point, and he did his best to bury that thought deep in the back of his mind and as he walked at twice his normal pace to the Starbucks Brendon worked in, because Brendon would probably slaughter him for treason for even considering going to another goddamn coffee shop, and well, although it sounded like a pleasant alternative to this insanity, he still didn't particularly fancy being murdered first thing in the morning, especially not before he'd even gotten coffee.

Because if you're going to be murdered, be murdered once you've had coffee.

-

"You're early." Brendon's eyes flew straight to the clock on the wall as Frank made his way inside the coffee shop at least fifteen minutes prior to his usual time.

Frank shrugged it off, and pretended that it was nothing more than a fluke, and that he didn't know it better than Brendon did, because he wanted nothing more than to just get the _fuck_ out of his apartment.

"So what can I get you this fine, cold ass morning? You know, no one ever comes in this early, so I get to listen to Taylor Swift on repeat, like that's seriously the only benefit of the early morning shift, okay?"

Frank nodded along with fake enthusiasm and simply shrugged, because Brendon _knew_ what to get him, because Frank drank the same damn coffee everyday damn day, and perhaps that should change, but perhaps Frank had other things on his mind right now as opposed to his early morning coffee choice.

"I'll give you this coffee for free if you can name the Taylor Swift song on right now." And of course, Brendon was deadly serious, but fucking hell, Frank wasn't exactly all that eager, but like, _free_ coffee, fuck it, he could at least try.

"Give me a clue." Frank demanded, glancing up at the speakers as if they might give him some sort of clue as to what the fuck this song was called.

" _Nope_." Brendon smirked, watching Frank's face with an excessive curiosity.

Frank grabbed his cellphone from his pocket in what was probably the worst form of acting Brendon Urie had ever fucking seen, "it's from my mum, I've got to reply-"

"If you dare Shazam this shit I will slit your throat, Iero." And well, Frank glanced down to the knife beside Brendon and didn't doubt his threat at all, like goddamn _who the fuck_ trusted Brendon Urie with a _knife_?

He looked down at his cellphone once more, ready to put it back in his pocket, only to see his note app open, and a simple ' _22'_ written on the first line of a new note.

Frank's heart fell still in his chest, glancing up at Brendon, his eyes widening a little as his lips went dry. "22?" 

"Fuck it, how did you get that?" Brendon exclaimed, leaving Frank to glance back down at his cellphone, to find the note deleted and a new one in its place.

This one reading something different entirely: a smiley face emoji, and a simple _'xoxo-g'_.

-

In Frank's head there was a forest, because in the forest, he didn't have to feel quite so alone anymore, and in the forest the snow couldn't fall much past the canopy, and the frostbite couldn't claim his limbs and pull them away.

In Frank's head there was an island, because on the island he stood alone: campfire and starry night skies kind of alone, and on this island there was a record player, and it was that kind of teenage angst break up punk playlist you make when you're fourteen and your first girlfriend stops being there for you, and you feel so alone, but even on the island you're okay. It never snows on the island, and the campfire keeps the cold away.

In Frank's head there was a castle, and he was hardly the princess, but more so the dragon, but still he couldn't protect this place for the life of him. The place protected itself, and four walls made of stone was enough to take wintertime itself and burn it at a stake.

In Frank's head there was a whole other world, and Frank didn't live there, although he kind of wished he could.

Because the wintertime always got to him before it was too late.

It was six in the evening and Frank Iero was wearing a cardigan as he walked home amongst the unexpected wintery conditions. No one had even expected it to snow this year at all, let alone in fucking _December_ , let alone this close to Christmas, let alone _ever_ , or something like that - Frank didn't know.

But Frank did know that he was most certainly nowhere as excited as the rest of the world.

As he continued his way home, he found himself visualising every one of Brendon's countless facebook statuses about the snow, and well, even the thought of it made the idea of Frank slipping on the ice on the way home and breaking his neck rather appealing.

But, _thankfully_ , that didn't happen.

Or at least, it hadn't happened yet, because, as we all know, _anything_ is possible, and Frank held that in his mind as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not thinking about his dead ex-boyfriend and just what the _fuck_ had been happening today.

Because even by now, even after near enough twelve hours of it, Frank still hadn't the slightest remnants of, to put it rather crudely, a fucking clue.

He fucking hated wintertime, though, because he was freezing himself to death here, and all while having his head haunted by legion upon legion of horrific thoughts fixated upon the madman kind of miracle that is Gerard Way, and his _ghost_.

Because at this point, Frank's kind of dead set on the paranormal nature of his being, because if he could possibly become and more insane at this point, he reckoned he'd wake up the next morning with the barrel of a gun pushed up against his temples and a million falsetto voices singing some kind of symphonic demand for him to pull the trigger.

But Frank had done some thinking and Frank _had_ noticed, that if he ignored Gerard, well, the thing, the ghost, the 'hallucination' whatever, it didn't matter at this point - it was Gerard, and Frank knew that, and simply because no one else in the whole fucking world could be such a fucking asshole even in the afterlife.

Frank had noticed, that besides Gerard, he was in fact nothing but perfectly sane and functioning, perhaps even a whole world away from the person he'd been in hospital, not that he could quite recall too much about the kind of person he'd been when locked away inside the white walled prison that smelled a little too sanitary and always insisted that you said thank you.

Anyway, he doubted he could hallucinate his own breakfast, or just make it and forget it, or put away his own coat, or recognise a Taylor Swift song he didn't even know - of course, as to how Gerard was suddenly the Taylor Swift expert, Frank just didn't want to know - but it was all becoming awfully suspicious, and perhaps, in a way, it was kind of easier like this.

Frank _wasn't_ insane.

But of course, that didn't mean he actually wanted this asshole of a dead ex-boyfriend following him around like some sort of lost and slightly psychotic puppy, because let's be real here, Gerard had always put the 'hot' in psychotic. 

But for sure, Frank smiled to himself, and made his way home with a minute, walking at twice the speed as he revelled in the newfound conclusion that alluded to his dubious state of sanity.

And whether it was true or not, a revelation like this certainly did a wonderful job when it came to lifting a weight from his shoulders.

Frank locked the front door of his apartment behind him and threw the keys in the vague direction of the table; he missed massively, and he knew it, even going as far as to let out some sort of dramatised sigh as he waited for the clatter of metal against his floorboards as he fumbled with the heating dial beside the door.

However, such a sound never quite reached his ears, but 'fortunately', Frank wasn't exactly abandoned and condemned to silence, as an entirely different kind of sound took the liberty of filling the silence instead.

"Your aim's fucking shoddy, Iero." 

And if Frank hadn't been almost half expecting it at this point, he probably would have had a full blown heart attack at that point, however he simply found himself, finishing fiddling with the temperate dial, before turning to face the voice, and found himself just a little intrigued to find its speaker stood in plain sight, keys in hand, and not hiding behind stupid fucking gestures as he had grown accustomed to as of recent.

"Oh, you're actually showing your face for once, are you?" Frank found himself speaking back with the same kind of tone before he could stop himself.

"When did you get so snarky?" He shook his head, fire truck red hair falling his face a little as he reached to place the keys onto the counter top. "I thought you were all denial and slapping me, and I did _not_ want to be slapped again so I fucked off for a bit, I'm good at fucking off you know, but I'm curious and nosy and I like you a lot, Frankie."

"I decided that I'm not insane." Frank said with a certain kind of achievement that Gerard couldn't help but chuckle at. "Because, _fuck it_ , worrying and fretting is going to drive me insane anyway, and you know what? Fuck you and your stupid breakfast and curtains and nice fucking gestures, and oh my god, fuck you, Gerard. Seriously, do I get an explanation now that I've accepted that you're real."

"You're drunk." Gerard noted, eyebrows raised just a little as he remained frozen on the spot, watching as Frank refilled the food and water bowls for his dogs.

"I'm really not." Frank didn't smile, just shook his head at that one, it having stricken more of a chord than anything else. "You know I would never drink and you know it makes me uncomfortable and you know about my dad and how much he drunk and you know _why_. I am maybe just a little baked, though, because there's this guy at work with dreads and is it offensive to assume he smokes weed? Turns out, he does, and turns out he's a nice guy-"

"Oh, when the fuck is the wedding, Iero?" Gerard shook his head, rolling his eyes a little. "Or am I not invited? Is it living guests only?" Frank threw him a middle finger in response as he made his way back to the kitchen and began to boil the kettle. "Does your dad seriously still upset you though, Frankie? It's been ten years, more than that, even, you should get over things with a decade, shouldn't you?"

"I don't know, I'm not the one haunting my boyfriend from ten years ago, Gerard." Frank poured the hot water into a mug of coffee and began to stir it furiously. "Seriously though, _how_ did you know what Taylor Swift song that was?"

"I'm twenty two, I need an anthem, I need to dress up like a hipster and make fun of my exes, as Taylor would say, not that haunting was the idea of making fun she had intended, I reckon- I can do a pretty good impression of Bert, though, if you want to-"

"I'm older than you." Frank said with a suddenly, and strangely amusing realisation, he even fucking turned to face Gerard, who had now wandered into the kitchen, and was leaning back against a counter. "I'm fucking older than you, Gerard."

"Alright, shut it, Grandpa."

"I'm twenty eight, and anyway, if you hadn't... hadn't... _died_... I... you'd be thirty two, Gerard, so shut the _fuck_ up."

"Thirty two." Gerard grimaced, as Frank grabbed his coffee and made his way over to Gerard, leaning back against the counter beside him. "Yikes, thirty fucking two- hey, at least I never made it to twenty three, because, you know, nobody likes you when you're twenty three."

"Very funny." Frank let out a sigh, stretching a little, before turning to face Gerard. "Explain this, come on, why are you here now and what's the catch and what the fuck is going on because I was doing fine without you, Gerard, I hate to break it to you, but you're not the fucking centre of my universe."

"You're the centre of my universe." Gerard admitted, sighing a little, and looking away. "You know I can disappear if I want to, not like _fuck off_ , but be invisible, whenever I want, look," Gerard paused, almost giving Frank a heart attack as Gerard faded into nothingness beside him, "I'm still here, though, look," he pulled the coffee cup from Frank's hand and held it up into the air, of course, to Frank, it was nothing but a levitating coffee cup that was about to spill all over the kitchen floor with how precariously Gerard was holding it. Gerard faded back into view with a smile, putting the coffee cup to his lips, and leaving Frank to watch wide eyed as the liquid flowed through him like it was nothing and splattered onto the kitchen floor. 

" _You_ can clean that up." Frank pointed at the coffee stain with wide eyes, and Gerard smiled a little, taking the kitchen towel and bending down just so Frank could see his ass to clean it up, because dead or not, it was still, _Gerard_ , and to Frank, there was no question about that at this point.

"Look, anyway, I've been here all along Frankie," Gerard stood up, putting the kitchen towel back onto the countertop, "just you can't see me most of the time."

"Awfully romantic- wait, even when I'm pooping, I-"

"I can walk away, like I'm not tied to you, but there's an area I can go, and I fade away more the further I am away from you, like if I stand at the end of this room, I'm more see through, I look less real, more like a trick of the light, but when I'm next to you, I'm sort of more here- you're what's grounding me to the earth, you know, Frankie? And honestly, I do not mind, so like that's why I can hold things closer to you, however I couldn't do that across the room."

"So... the closer to me, the more sort of 'alive' you are?" Frank asked, grinning to himself in a way that reminded him an awful lot of his seventeen year old self. 

"Yeah?"

"Well, this isn't, this can't be like, well a _thing_ , not now, but-..." Frank paused, blushing a little, "but how alive and human do you think you'd be if you were so close you were-"

"Are you thinking about cuddling, me spooning up close to you?" Gerard asked, grinning a little as he moved closer to Frank.

"No, Gerard, quite honestly, I'm thinking about your dick in my ass."

-


	7. In Which We Learn That Gerard Way Is A Teenage Girl In Disguise

Gerard was still there, and Frank was almost surprised, because whatever this was, this was new, because Gerard wasn't the kind of guy you could be certain would be there in the morning.

Frank had insisted upon the sofa, Gerard had insisted otherwise, and Frank even began to wonder if ghosts actually needed to sleep at all. However, he didn't particularly fret over it, simply sitting up in bed and thanking the dear lord himself that it was the weekend.

He found himself a little nervous when it came to getting Gerard's attention, well _touching_ him, but Frank exhaled loudly, and found himself gingerly extending his hand in the direction of the boy curled up on the other side of his bed.

They hadn't cuddled or fucked or anything, and they'd slept sort of apart, because although, deep down, they still sort of shared this mutual kind of affection for one another, it had still been ten years, and the constant reminder of that haunted Frank's mind in an entirely different manner to the way Gerard did.

Gerard stirred as Frank's hand was within centimetres of his back, rolling and turning in the bed to face Frank, who was sort of half sat up with the sheets twisting around his waist.

"You know what's nice about this? About being a ghost?" Gerard spoke after just a few moments of meeting Frank's gaze in a sort of unsubtle and totally mesmerised manner.

"You tell me, Gerard, I know for sure that I much preferred it when you hadn't _killed_ yourself." Frank's tone was a little bitter, but the hour was early still, and Gerard seemed only slightly fazed as he too sat up.

"It's different to being human, you know? It feels different, and I experience things differently, especially with you, because I feel your energy, your entity, and your touch and... when you moved your hand closer, things stopped being cold inside my chest, I mean, my ribcage must get lonely without a beating heart in there-"

"Oh, fuck off, when did you become such the soppy romantic?" Frank shook his head, smiling and blushing a little as he turned to his bedside table, feeling no desire to get out of bed right now as he grabbed the packet of cigarettes and lit himself one.

"When did you become such a _bottom_?" Gerard retorted, pushing his hair away from his face as he watched Frank light the cigarette. "I wonder if I can actually smoke cigarettes still, I mean, I-"

"Maybe it'd work if you sat closer to me, or something... do you want to try?" Frank looked up, holding out the packet of cigarettes in Gerard's direction.

"I'd probably have to sit in your fucking lap, not going to lie." And the two laughed a little as Frank closed the packet and put it back on the table. "Is that you saying that you _don't_ want me to sit on your lap? You know, I'm a ghost, I technically have no mass, it's not even going to-"

"Gerard, just... _shut up._ " Frank shook his head, holding the cigarette between his two fingers. "It's been ten years, just because I've accepted that you exists doesn't mean that we're automatically boyfriends again."

Gerard nodded, sighing a little as he moved closer to Frank, laying his head on the now _older_ man's shoulder, and letting out a slightly more content sigh. "You know, I've reckoned I've figured it out."

"What?" Frank asked, looking down at Gerard as he took a drag of his cigarette.

"I've figured you out, Frank Iero." Frank raised his eyebrows: apprehensive, but curious and eager for Gerard to continue. "You didn't get over me, you _became_ me: you're the smoker, you're the bottom, you're the fucked up mind, you're the older one, you're the fucking _hot_ one. I'm just waiting for the very day you're buying a fucking box of red hair dye."

"I'm not even a bottom, Gerard." Frank protested, because that was of course the only one of Gerard's claims _worth_ protesting, "that was just, you know... a _thing_."

"Think about the last time you had a fuck, and tell me, just were you the bottom or were you the top?" Gerard asked, watching as Frank frowned a little too himself.

"Dear lord, it's been _ages_ since I've done anything like that- fucking way to make me feel great about myself." Frank groaned, leaning back against the wall. "I can barely even _remember_."

Gerard simply chuckled to himself, before moving away from Frank for a moment, only slightly, "hey, do you think that if it was possible for us to like _fuck_ , do you think that would be necrophilia?"

His question certainly caught Frank more than a little off guard, as the twenty eight year old's eyes widened as he continued to cough up his fucking lungs. " _Jesus_ , Gerard." He exclaimed, finishing his cigarette, and putting it out in the ashtray beside his bed.

"What?" He responded, smirking to himself a little, and placing his hand tentatively on Frank's thigh.

"That's _weird_ , Gerard, I can feel you, but it's different, it's... like-"

"Wait, how about this..." Gerard moved himself just generally closer to Frank, still leaving his hand in the same place on his thigh. "And then if I'm further away," Gerard moved so that he was practically sat on the other end of the bed, just stretching out for Frank's thigh.

"Come back." Frank spoke without thinking, "I don't, I don't like it with you sat there... the light from the window passes through you and you don't look as real, and I start to doubt myself, and I start to think that maybe you are still just a hallucination."

"Frank, don't be such a fucking idiot." Gerard was blunt, but moved back to Frank nonetheless. "Of course I'm real." And he took his hand in Frank's to prove it, squeezing it a little, "feel that? _Real_. Fucking real."

And silence, silence for a good few minutes as Frank Iero sat in his bed on a Saturday morning and held the hand of his dead ex-boyfriend like it meant the absolute world to him, because even if he was insane, at this point, he most definitely would not have it any other way.

Frank piped up after five or so minutes had passed, "necrophilia, by definition, is an attraction towards specifically _corpses_ and not generally the dead, or... ghosts."

"So, _theoretically_ , of course, we could totally fuck?" Gerard smiled to himself, "and my mortality isn't a problem?"

"Honestly, I think who's going to bottom and who's going to top is more of a problem than whether you're technically alive or not."

-

Frank had busied himself with some paperwork that he really didn't need to do until Monday at work: coffee set beside him on the table, and one of his dogs asleep on the sofa beside him - it was normal, and Frank was most certainly relishing in the mundane nature of the activity, and the mind numbing nothingness it brought him.

Because there was absolutely no escaping the red head sat on a chair opposite him.

They sat wordlessly, a couple of hours having passed since their perhaps overly in depth conversation in bed, and now the two were content in just being in proximity of one another, well, actually, they had little choice when it come to whether they were in close proximity to one another or not, but Frank didn't have to do this paperwork, and yet he was doing it, but looking up to smile at Gerard every few seconds.

Because this paperwork was his distraction, and without this distraction, he reckoned he and Gerard would still be in bed, but things would be quite as innocent as they had been before, because there was simply no denying that there was something between the two of them, and they both knew it, but kept it quite and close to their chests as they simply watched one another in silence.

Gerard had busied himself with a pencil and some paper, sitting close enough to Frank to able to clutch the objects, but only just; it'd be much easier if he could just sit on Frank's lap or whatever, but he doubted that Frank would see it that way.

Frank was too desperate to cling to the part of him that didn't matter, and Gerard hated that, but he cared far too much about the man not to stick around regardless, but even if he could move and exist as he wished, Gerard Way would most definitely still be sat in the chair opposite him.

Frank found himself looking up from the paperwork, putting it down even, and setting his gaze firmly upon Gerard's and leaving it there until the redhead looked up to meet it.

Frank smiled, blushing a little, and Gerard copied his actions, the two continuing in an almost awkward kind of silence as they both contemplated saying something, _anything_ , but found themselves far too comfortable and satisfied in nothing more than each other's presence, and quite honestly, it was indeed kind of pathetic, but oddly beautiful too, and there was something in that that Frank knew he never wanted to let go of.

Gerard set the pencil and paper down too, running a hand back through his hair as he gave Frank his full attention, almost like an invitation for the twenty eight year old to add something to the silence, but Frank felt no desire to do anything other stare at Gerard forever, because he'd had ten long years of not seeing him at all, and Frank reckoned he did indeed need to make up that time.

And silence continued to pass for a good few minutes, however things couldn't possible stay that peaceful and that perfect forever, barely even a few minutes at a time, because Frank's front door was slamming open, leaving him to stare wide eyed as a rather overexcited and somewhat frantic Brendon Urie stormed in, making sure Frank deeply fucking regretted giving that guy a spare key.

" _Frankie_ , what the fuck are you doing in your house all day? Jesus Christ, it's Saturday, are you _ill_? Are you dying, because if you're not dying, what the fuck are you doing to me by cooping yourself up inside like this?"

As Brendon stumbled across the room, nearly tripping over at least two dogs on his way there, Frank's stomach did a backflip as his gaze fell upon Gerard sat opposite him, his eyes widening as he glanced at Brendon once more.

"He can't see me, or even hear me, if I don't want him to." Frank jumped a little, turning back to face Gerard, and of course, Brendon hadn't heard a thing, simply making his way to sit down beside Frank with very little else to say for himself.

"Are you doing _work_? You're not in work-" Brendon threw Frank's paperwork bullshit in the direction of the coffee table, placing a hand to his forehead to check for a temperature. "You're not even ill- the _fuck_ , Iero? Like seriously what are you doing here?"

Frank let out a sigh, turning to face Gerard, who only raised his eyebrows, something like a smirk twitching at the corners of his lips as he did so. "Tell him you were getting fucked in the ass, go on, Frankie, I fucking _dare_ you."

Frank blushed a horrible shade of red, turning back to Brendon, forever thankful that at the very least he hadn't heard that, however he was indeed quick to raise an eyebrow at Frank's cheeks, now a shade akin to the hair of the boy across the room that Brendon couldn't see.

"I'm tired." Frank mumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest and making a point to avoid Gerard's gaze.

"You're fucking- you're fucking insane, Frank, I tell you- come on, come out for coffee with me and Ryan." Brendon pleaded, grabbing Frank by the wrist in an oddly theatrically manner that Gerard couldn't help but chuckle at - it wasn't like Brendon could hear him anyway, but of course, Frank could.

"I wouldn't want to third wheel on your date." Frank sighed out, pulling his hand free and shaking his head a little.

"Then that's why you need to let me help you get a boyfriend, isn't it, Frankie, because then we can have a double date." Brendon exclaimed, and Gerard made a point of coughing from across the room, but it wasn't like Brendon heard at all.

"I'm alright, honestly." Frank smirked a little, chancing a look in Gerard's direction, the twenty two year old, raising his eyebrows a little as he glared at Brendon, loathing the fact that he'd even suggested the notion of Frank getting a boyfriend.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." Frank got up, gesturing for Brendon to do the same. "Go on, don't be late for your fucking date, you idiot? Okay?"

"Okay." Brendon smiled, making his way back towards the door, nearly tripping over a dog this time, which would have been unfortunate.

" _Okay? Okay?"_ Gerard exclaimed as the door slammed shut behind Brendon, and the sound of Ryan's being knocked on from across the room became vaguely audible. "This isn't the fucking fault in our stars, Frank."

"I swear to god that's a book for teenage girls, Gerard." Frank said after a moment of just looking Gerard over with something akin to disbelief, because he was beginning to think that Gerard Way was actually nothing more than a teenage girl in disguise.

"I swear to god if you keep saying that shit, I'm going to fucking die of cancer or something - yeah, Augustus dies at the end, sorry, spoilers-"

"I wasn't particularly planning on reading it-"

"Don't bother, don't even see the film, I'm totally hotter than Augustus anyway, and like I've already died so you don't need to worry about that happening again-"

" _Gerard_!"

"Oh come on, Frankie, I'm pretty damn sure that ghosts can't get cancer."

"I'm pretty damn sure I hate you."

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have spoiled it."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it then?"

And silence, as Frank bit his lip, not quite meeting Gerard's gaze, "I don't know, but it's enough to ensure that my mind never shuts up."

"Helpful." Gerard added after a moment, smirking a little, and for just a second, Frank looked like it was one thirty eight in the morning all over again and he was so ready to slap the fuck out of his face, but it subdued with that smile and the look the two shared.

Because this was something, this was enough to keep Frank's heart beating in his chest.

"I know you are."

And okay, Gerard was right, ghosts _technically_ couldn't die again, could they?

-

Ryan's flat was still only half furnished, and his stuff was only half unpacked, and that really did serve to highlight the fact that Ryan had been spending far too much time fucking Brendon, as opposed to sorting out his life, but hey, if Brendon's cock was as big as his forehead, who the fuck could blame him?

Frank had only come over in the first place, because Ryan had texted him to ask if he could borrow some milk, which Frank had reluctantly brought over and mostly just to ensure that Ryan didn't decide to boycott their friendship or something like that, however, ten minutes, the milk was left on the table, somewhat ignored by a tipsy Brendon, a giggly Ryan, and a slightly confused Frank.

But Ryan had offered to make him coffee for his troubles, and Ryan could actually make coffee, unlike Brendon, who was paid to make coffee, because yes, that made sense. But then again, Frank was in no place to question that if he was going to continue not really questioning the fact that his boyfriend from ten years ago was somehow now magically part of his life again.

Sure, Gerard _had_ provided him with some sort of an explanation, but it absolutely did not make nearly as much sense as Frank would have liked it to, but regardless, he much preferred living in the kind of peaceful calm where he didn't have to worry himself with the ever looming threat of insanity and schizophrenia.

Because to Frank Iero, yes, the ghost of his dead boyfriend was normal, because to Frank Iero, everything 'normal' was forced and new to him, whereas the deepest depths of insanity felt like a comfortable home.

And yes, he was fucked up, but he was still breathing, and surely that counted for something, anyway, Ryan Ross was going to make him coffee, and Ryan Ross was good at making coffee and Frank really did have to look at the positives here.

Gerard had promised to stay in Frank's apartment until he came back, but Frank seriously doubted that that was a promise the twenty two year old was going to keep, because Frank knew Gerard, and he knew him all too well, all too well enough to know that Gerard was the world's best liar and the world's worst promise keeper.

He did genuinely seem as if he changed a little in the past ten years, which was perhaps to be expected, because ten years was a lot, even if you were dead, and technically did have all eternity, which was really quite a weird thought for Frank to think about.

And so, he didn't, just wishing that things could really be that simple, because they really never were.

Frank had sat there, oddly distant for entirely too long now, and even _Brendon_ was starting to notice, which was definitely a sign that Frank was being overly obvious about the fact that he was deeply troubled and that his dead boyfriend was now sort of living with him again, but thankfully, Brendon Urie had nowhere near the mental capacity to make it as a mind reader, and came out with some bullshit instead.

"You're pissed off that Ryan's take advantage of you by guilt tripping you into lending him milk." Brendon's claim could most be pinned on the copious amounts of alcohol that no one had thought to remove from his vicinity before it was too late and they were left to deal with these kinds of consequences.

"Yes, Brendon, that's _exactly_ right." Frank rolled his eyes, leaving Ryan to look between the two of them and let out a frustrated kind of 'why do I put up with these idiots?' sigh.

"Frank... seriously, are you okay?" Ryan continued, putting his arm around Brendon in an attempt to comfort the mess that was his boyfriend. "Like, you don't look okay, you know?"

"I'm okay, I promise, trust me." Frank let his gaze move away from Ryan's and found himself regretting it instantly, catching sight of Gerard in the corner of his eye.

The red haired, ethereal kind of figure stepped forward a little, the corners of his lips twitching up into an awkward smile as Gerard faced Frank. "I'm sorry... I... it's complicated, and even harder to explain when you can't say anything back to me, okay?" Gerard let out a sigh, gesturing towards Brendon and Ryan, who sat in utter oblivion to the ghost in the corner of the room.

Because _yes_ , of course, everything just _had_ to be complicated with Gerard Way, didn't it? But still, Frank still cared too much about him, and Frank was nowhere near the amount of sanity he needed to give up before everything fell apart.

" _Frank_?" The twenty eight year old jumped a little as Ryan's hand appeared, waving in front of his face. "Are you _okay?"_

"Yeah, yeah..." Frank blushed a little, turning back to face the two on the sofa. "I'm... I'm... _tired_... yeah..."

" _Tired_?" Needless to say, even a drunken Brendon wasn't convinced.

"Yeah, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately."

And then laughter from the corner of the room that only Frank could hear, "yeah, oops, my bad."

Some days, Frank Iero seriously considered _murdering_ Gerard Way; today was one of those days.

-


	8. Brendon Urie's Instagram Theme Aesthetic

Mornings were never anything spectacular, but within a week or so, mornings had become Frank's whole world.

Mornings were a matter of neither darkness nor light, just something in between; mornings were a matter of neither death nor life, just something in between.

Gerard almost felt real curled up next to Frank, and the two had been sleeping closer together with every morning, and with every morning, the line between this world and Gerard's had faded a little.

It was almost like Frank was eighteen again and everything was okay, but things weren't like that, and no matter how real Gerard's body felt pressed up against Frank's, it was still always cold, and he still could never breathe.

Because Gerard lay still, and he lay _too_ still, like he lay in his own grave, and he did, he really did, and Frank knew that; he knew that this wasn't _Gerard_ , this was just a shadow, or perhaps a reflection: the Gerard from the other side of the mirror or something, but Frank knew that this Gerard was the absolute best he was ever going to get.

And Frank held on, startling the man in the bed next to him as he curled his fingers around his.

"Morning." Gerard mumbled, shifting in the sheets to face the shorter man.

And it was like you were at a bar or even just a friend's house, and a song comes on the radio or whatever, and it sounds familiar, and it sound _so_ familiar: you know every chord, every line, but you _don't_ , and you glance at the track name, and it's unfamiliar, and you come to the conclusion that you've never heard this song in your life and you don't know it at all.

That was Gerard.

Right now at least, because with the smile and the content look in those hazel eyes, Frank knew that even if this was the 'right' Gerard, he still had most definitely changed. Of course, change with time was to be expected, but Frank wasn't ready; Frank had never been ready.

And before Frank could stop himself, his head wasn't here, but ten years prior, in a bed, a bed with Gerard, but a different Gerard and a different room, a different house, a different town, a different state, and what felt like a whole different world.

They'd fucked that morning.

They'd _fucked_ , and it was crude and it was normal, and it was ordinary, and they were ordinary, because there wasn't a single moment in which Frank could have possibly suspected that he'd go to bed that night and wake up the next morning without the red haired man by his side.

But of course, Frank didn't go to bed that night; he couldn't sleep, perhaps even for many days afterwards: things had gotten a little blurry, and perhaps for the better, not that Frank had anything close to a good grasp on better judgement, as it seemed that Frank's only life skill was limited to getting himself into bigger and bigger messes, but for sure, he was damn good at it.

"What are you thinking about?" Gerard's words were quiet and muffled: soft against the pillow that the two had shared, sort of, but not really.

Frank looked up, and into Gerard's eyes, swallowing hard, and just letting his gaze meet Gerard's, and just letting everything sink in, and _fuck_ , Frank was crying, and Frank could do very little about it.

" _Fuck_ , Frank- I..." Gerard exclaimed, his eyes widening a little as he placed his hand in Frank's, squeezing it a little in something like an attempt to comfort him. "Please tell me what you're thinking about?"

"Since when did you say please?" Frank scoffed, turning over onto his back, and biting his lip, willing the tears to stop, and with time, they did.

"Since I started to be sorry." Gerard added, several moments later, laying beside Frank as he did so. "Just tell me, Frankie."

" _You_ tell me." Frank insisted, inhaling sharply as he did so.

"Tell you what?" Gerard asked, genuinely clueless, and genuinely beautiful, even for a person who'd been dead ten fucking years.

"Why you did it. Tell me what really went through your head that day, because it's always my perspective a million times over; that's all I think about, I could recite it to you, every little thought and feeling, but from _you_ , from you there was little more than a soppily concocted paragraph, a lacklustre apology that I thought I'd never receive closure from, and I won't, but I... need to know, Gerard, tell me why."

Gerard turned away from Frank momentarily, biting his lip as he did so, because Gerard himself didn't linger too much upon this topic either. "It's... it's complicated."

"Isn't _everything_?" Frank snapped back instantly. "This isn't a Facebook relationship status, Gerard."

"I know." Gerard shook his head, finally turning back to Frank, but not quite meeting his gaze as he continued to speak. "I was scared: I always am, and always have been, but then it was different, because I was such a mess of teenage angst and fucked up feelings and knots that never got untied: I was all flaws with no strengths, and I was pretty, I am pretty, but that's all I have going for me, and I struggle to see how you could see anything worth dating in me, but that's a stupid question, and I... I had built up this persona, this _'Gerard_ ', this guy that was too cool and too tough and too good for anyone, and then there was this boy called Frankie who fucked that all up."

"You hated me when we first met that day in the forest, in the summertime, didn't you?" Frank asked, exhaling sharply as he did so.

"I wanted you to think I did." Gerard shook his head once more. "That was the very day I fell for you: it was like falling, it was like I'd hit the end of the road, the end of the cliff, and you were the freefall, and it was that for so long, and I'd embraced it after all, but that day, I woke up, and everything was different, it was over: it was the bottom, and I _knew_ it, and in a way, I think you did too. I wanted to stay, but that argument, inevitable, of course, was what sealed it, but it's okay now, we're together again now: seems like I just _can't_ get away from you, no matter how hard I try." Gerard cracked something like a smile as he spoke.

"You know you didn't _have_ to, Gerard." Frank continued, not as satisfied with the response he'd received as Gerard would have liked him to be. "You could have stayed alive, we could have had that argument, and you could have gone out to the forest and smoked and had some time alone, and I could go look for you and we could talk things over and we could kiss, and we'd be good and it'd be okay-"

"This is the best option, I assure you, Frankie." Gerard let out a sigh, raising his eyebrows a little as he did so. "This is keeping me to stay by your side, because with me alive, and me being me, and you being you, I can promise you that we would _not_ have lasted ten years."

"Eleven." Frank corrected him.

"Eleven." Gerard paused. "It wouldn't have happened."

"So are you saying you didn't love me?-"

"No-"

"Then _what_ are you saying?" Frank had quickly lost all of his patience, and Gerard was more than well aware of it.

"You wouldn't understand-"

"What because I'm just a kid- well, guess what? I'm not a kid anymore: I'm twenty eight, I'm six years older than you, and you need to accept that, and you need accept what you did instead of just rewriting it off as some poetic teen romance bullshit."

And with that, Frank found the space in the bed beside him empty.

" _Fuck_." Frank sat up, his eyes widening a little as he glanced around the room in panic, "come on, Gerard, I know you can hear me, I'm _sorry_ \- I... I’m sorry, I mean it, please."

And, _nothing_.

Nothing but an empty room for the man with an empty heart.

And it was deja vu: ten years ago all over again, and maybe this was a repeat, and maybe they were destined to fuck up every single chance they had, but still, but fucking still, that would _never_ stop Frank from trying.

-

Frank Iero was someone's blog aesthetic.

And part teenage white girl in disguise, curled up against a Starbucks window with a fucking _vanilla latte_ in hand as he looked sad and almost melancholic, of sorts; his gaze distant and fixated upon the world outside the coffee shop window.

Frank Iero was Brendon Urie's instagram theme aesthetic.

"Did you just take a fucking picture of me?" Frank exclaimed, jolting a little in his seat at the camera shutter sound.

Brendon raised his eyebrows, pulling a 'bitch I might have' face as he 'discreetly' put his iPhone back in his pocket.

"He has an instagram theme to maintain now." Ryan filled Frank in, looking just as skeptical in regards to the whole situation as Frank himself was, but of course, Ryan was far too stricken to dare voice any of his apprehensions, and especially not in Brendon's company.

"I do indeed." Brendon nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, and leaving Frank to scan the coffee shop for even the faintest glimpse of that red hair that he was pretty sure he could fucking recognise anywhere, but no, _nothing_.

It had been a day or so now, and Frank hated this loneliness, and he _needed_ Gerard back, but of course he had to be such a stubborn asshole, and Frank hadn't the slightest idea as to how the fuck he was supposed to make this up to him, and it wasn't exactly as if he could just ask Brendon and Ryan for advice, was it?

"Frank, why do you always look so sad?" Brendon wasn't exactly the most discreet person, to say the least, and Frank didn't even know why he'd been at all startled as he came to process just exactly what Brendon had said.

"I... I..." Frank's eyes widened a little as he looked Brendon up and down, deciding it was better to go for a sarcastic answer here. "Why do we always sit in this Starbucks everyday?"

"Why do you always third wheel me and Ryan?" Of course, Frank hadn't accounted for just how ready Brendon was to appose every little remark Frank could pose.

"Brendon, fucking leave it, okay, he's single, so what? Just leave it-"

"But _Ryan_ , he won't let us help him find a boyfriend, so I have the fucking right to get pissed off when he's sad-"

"But you don't have the right to assume that I'm sad because I'm single." Frank cut in, glaring right at Brendon.

"He's right, you know." Ryan added, and Frank was getting dangerously fucking close to just _leaving_ , right then and there, and walking until he reached the end of the world, or New Jersey, or something.

Part of Frank needed to go home, and he needed to go home right now.

Part of Frank needed to be eighteen again, and he needed to be eighteen right now.

Because he'd take it; he'd take it all: all the mess and fuck ups, all of it, just for another chance with Gerard, just for a life with Gerard, one where they were both alive, and things could possibly work.

"Okay, I'm sorry, but seriously, you're always sad, and it's starting to unsettle me, and it's like, you always give me bullshit answers, and if you told us the truth then we could help you, you know?" Brendon forced his face into a smile, but still Frank wasn't anything near convinced, and quite honestly why would he be?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Of course we would, look, Frank, you can't keep this up inside you forever: it's going to drive you insane, you know?" Ryan's attempt was a little more substantial, but Frank was perhaps as stubborn as the red haired dead boyfriend who was the cause to all his problems, and his mind was already made up.

"Watch me." He got up, making his way out of the coffee shop. "Fucking _watch_ me."

But of course, Ryan was right, and he _couldn't_ keep it inside, not really, but still, this wasn’t something he could talk to them about, and he _knew_ it.

-

It was a texted address and badly executed excuses, and a 'fuck it' attitude that had led Frank Iero to Ray Toro's doorstep, and of course, more so, advice, and a search for it, because Ryan and Brendon had been anything but helpful as of recent.

And Frank _was_ going just a little insane, or something along those lines.

Ray lived on the outskirts of town, in a part that Frank didn't frequent, and in fact, the twenty eight year old had gotten himself lost at least twice on the journey there.

This part of town was all tight little streets and pretty houses with hedges all in neat rows, and people that lived with too much grandeur for Frank and his tiny little apartment to comprehend imagining, and perhaps, weeks ago, Frank would have been complacent with the meaningless nature of his existence, but now, in the perfect streets, between the perfect houses, in which people lived perfect lives, he knew that he just _couldn't_ , not anymore.

And it had been _entirely_ Gerard's fault, as most things were, and that was just a slightly unfortunate truth that Frank had learned to accept by now.

Ray answered the door within a minute or so, and really, it had been easily the slowest and most reflective minute of Frank's life, perhaps only second to the one minute in which he'd first came across Gerard, just _laying_ there, in that forest - motionless, and _fuck_ , and, just-

"Frank, are you alright?" Ray's words broke Frank out of his thoughts within seconds, the shorter man jerking a little as they happened to surprise him more than he'd ever care to admit.

Frank looked Ray in the eye, meeting his gaze with a certain kind of honesty, "no, Ray, I'm quite honestly not, you know?"

"And you need my advice?" Ray guessed the second half of his sentence and as Frank nodded, he stepped aside to let him in.

Frank felt almost out of place in a house like this, because it was most definitely too fancy for him, too _good_ , too expensive, too worth someone's time, because poor Frank Iero wasn't even worth Gerard Way's time anymore, and the red head had made that rather apparent in his continued and stubborn absence.

"Come on, I'll make some coffee." Ray gestured Frank into the kitchen like they were old friends, and Ray wasn't totally his music teacher back in high school, but of course, Frank had no queries when it came to free coffee, like any sane person, of course, because Frank _was_ sane, after all.

"So..." Ray drew out a sigh as he put the kettle on, Frank leaning back against the wall a few metres away and watching as Ray fiddled mindlessly with various kitchen appliances. "Do go on."

Frank exhaled with entirely too much vigour, causing Ray to raise his eyebrow, but comment no further as Frank finally parted his lips and something of significance slipped out, "it's about _Gerard_."

And Ray almost dropped the mug right onto the kitchen floor, " _oh_?" 

"Yeah." Frank bit down on his bottom lip, looking anywhere _but_ Ray, because fuck, he knew what he most be thinking right now, and what this must all mean and add up to, and what a mess he must have constructed for himself, and _fuck_ , just _fuck_.

"What about him?" Ray spoke up a few minutes later, and Frank kind of wished he didn't, because he found a certain comfort in silence and nothingness, and maybe he could live like that forever; he certainly could as of a few weeks ago, but ever since Gerard had become a part of his life again, he could hardly imagine it.

Gerard always had to be _so_ fucking significant, and he _hated_ that.

"He's... fuck... you're going to... fuck.... Ray, I..."

"Frank, come on, just spit it out." Ray turned to face Frank fully at this point, and the twenty eight year old only began to realise just how absurd it would sound aloud, and how ridiculous it would be to voice such an atrocity with such a casual demeanour.

He'd look _insane_ , hey, maybe Frank _was_ insane, fuck _,_ but there was little he could do at this point, because if his life was going to fuck up, he done a brilliant job of it already.

"I keep seeing his ghost..." Frank trailed off, his gaze hitting the floor, as he prepared himself for an absolute outcry from the older man, but instead, he received little more than a simple:

"Oh..." and silence, continued silence, as Ray stood there deep in thought, and the kettle boiled, and Ray put entirely too much thought and care into making their coffee: almost if he was trying to avoid the subject of what Frank had just said, however as he poured the coffee, and handed one to Frank, he met the shorter man's gaze, and exhaled sharply, preparing himself for just about everything and anything before continuing with, "how do you know he's a ghost?"

"He told me, and he's proved it, and he... it makes sense, and it doesn't sound like it should, and he never explains not really, because it's Gerard, but... it makes sense, and it... I just _know_ , like do you sometimes just _know_ things, like, it may have been ten years, but I still know Gerard, you know what I mean?"

Ray didn't, but gingerly, he nodded his head regardless, because with the way Frank was looking at him, Ray knew that he needed some sort of reassurance more than Ray needed to be correct in everything he said.

"And now... well we had an argument, and he disappeared, except he's not gone, because he told me that he's sort of tied to me, like I can't _see_ him, but he's here somewhere now, and I know that, and I've tried apologising, and I... I _fucked_ up, again, and it's like last time; it's like that day, and the forest, and I just, fuck, I'm just so glad that he can't kill himself twice-"

"It's not your fault, Frank; it never has been, and it never will be." Frank nodded, hesitant to believe him, but Ray's gaze was somewhat intimidating and he didn't quite dare to question it.

"It feels like it, because I always start the argument, and I don't stop- I _can't_ stop thinking about him, and-"

"Frank, I'm sorry, but are you _sure_ he's not a figment of your imagination, I mean...."

"No, Ray, fuck, _no_ , I'm _sane_ , he promised me, and he meant it, and Gerard doesn't always keep promises, but he's changed and I..."

And Frank almost half expected Gerard to appear in the corner of the room, face complete with a smirk determined to prove Ray wrong, but Frank had no such luck, and found the room empty besides the two of them, and in consequence, he found himself, truly and utterly _fucked_.

-


	9. Ray Toro's Quest For Milk

Frank had been all kinds of reluctant when it came to the matter of staying the night, but Ray was older, definitely wiser, and somehow, just in a way, still Frank's teacher, and still someone the younger man felt he should look up to and listen to, and with a huffy, teenage shake of his head and sigh, Frank had agreed to stay in the spare room and allow Ray to watch in far too much concern for anyone's good, as Frank refused to say anything of any substance.

Because despite the very obvious mess that Frank found himself in, he still did indeed reckon he really was okay, and that this all would pass: one way or another, and at this point, Frank liked to say he was little but indifferent, but in reality, Frank was little but an expert at lying to himself, and Ray Toro was a world class expert at seeing through it all.

Ray had known Frank since the younger was seventeen, after all.

Frank felt sort of awkward, _uncomfortable_ even, just like he didn't belong, in a house, in a world like this, but Ray was all kinds of stubborn, and Frank was all kinds of welcome, even if he didn't dare admit it, that he had something to think and complain about besides the absence of the ex-boyfriend who had been dead something like ten years now.

Ray was of course just a little concerned for Frank's mental health, because well, with the subject matter and what he'd told him, who wouldn't be? But besides this, Frank seemed absolutely fine, and Ray found himself stumped, fucking stuck on the matter, and he reckoned that this wasn't something he could just discuss with his wife, Christa, at the dinner table, as he often did when he found himself in need of advice.

He reckoned he owed Frank privacy at the very least, and he made certain of the fact that he'd stick to that promise, and would tell Christa the truth, to an _extent_ ; that Frank was an old student of his, and they were close, and Frank needed somewhere to stay tonight, or perhaps for a few nights, because Ray had no idea just how long it would be until he could let Frank leave through that door again and not shake with anxiety at the notion of never seeing him again.

Because with the state of mind that Frank was in, it really felt like a possibility: a very real possibility, in fact, and there was little way out of that one.

But Frank was sane, or at least, he seemed so, because Frank was _Frank_ : older but still the same person Ray had known ten years ago, because sure, he'd matured, of course he had - time changed people, after all, but he was inherently the same person, and Ray felt that even as the twenty eight year old stood in the corner of the kitchen, leaned up against the cabinet, his whole body shaking, and his whole head vacant, and fixated upon matters of that certain ex-boyfriend, as Ray stood in the next room, attempting to explain this to a rather tired and flustered looking Christa Toro.

Frank jumped a little as the kitchen door opened, and Ray lead his wife inside, and from the somewhat concerned look in her eyes, he reckoned that Ray had made some attempt regarding an explanation regarding the guy in her kitchen. "This is Frank; it's just a night, or a few, and it's important, isn't it, Frank?"

Frank looked between Ray and his wife, raising his eyebrows a little, "I'll go if you want, it's nothing, but Ray's... _Ray_ , and..."

"He's not going to let you go, let alone give up on you." Christa finished for him with something like a smile, and well, that wasn't exactly what Frank was expecting. "No more than a few nights though, look, I'm guessing this is private, but still, I don't want the life of a student of yours from ten years ago ruining ours."

"It won't." Ray promised her, sincerity in his eyes, and there was somewhat of an unspoken conversation, and a kind of love and trust that Frank reckoned he'd never reach, not with anyone, and _especially_ not with Gerard.

Sure, Frank _loved_ Gerard, or something... something like that, but Frank wasn't stupid; he did stupid things, for sure, but he was by no means a stupid person.

"Okay then, Ray, can you go down the road to the shop, we need milk?" Ray glanced between Christa and Frank with a certain hesitance in his gaze. "Come on, for god's sake, I'm not going to kill him, and anyway, he's an adult; you don't need to babysit him."

"I'm not-" Ray's protests soon ground to a halt, shaking his head, before grabbing his keys from the countertop and waving to the two of them as he made his way to the front door on his quest for milk.

"So..." Christa drew out the silence as the front door slammed, turning to Frank, and flashing him a genuine kind of smile, "what exactly is it with you two? Not many students still know, let alone are close to music teachers from a decade ago?"

"He was always the nicest person to me." Frank admitted, blushing a little, because dear god, it did sound awfully pathetic, and of course, it wasn't like the memories of his high school life were something the twenty eight year old particularly wanted to dwell on. "He let me stay in his classroom at lunch time and protected me from these bullies, and he was always accepting of my sexuality and he just _really_ , genuinely cared, and you don't get that from a lot of teachers."

Christa pulled her lips up into a smile, "no you don't. But of course, Ray isn't a lot of people, and I must admit that I'm a lucky woman. So he was... what? Twenty five?"

"Yeah." Frank nodded, smiling a little, "he was a much better twenty five year old than I ever was."

"Why? What kind of a twenty five year old were you? What happened when you were twenty five?" Christa asked, and Frank was leading himself into all kinds of trouble here, but she smiled like she meant it, and Frank knew exactly why Ray had fallen for her, because if he was into girls, he totally would have too.

"When I was twenty five... _fuck_..." Frank shook his head, "I got out of a mental hospital when I was twenty five," Frank paused, wondering if he should have regretted telling her something like this, but fuck it, because it was definitely too late now, "I'm twenty eight now."

"Why were you in there?" Christa asked, trying to be as respectful as possible, because she could definitely see that this was somewhat of a touch subject for Frank. "If you don't mind telling me, that is."

Frank sighed shaking his head, almost in disbelief of himself, "schizophrenia," and perhaps, at this point, he reckoned he said it all too casually too.

"I'm sorry-"

"And this is the point where I'm supposed to reassure you and telling you that I'm fine and totally sane now, but I don't know if I am; I honestly don't know, and my head's a mess, and my head's always going to be a mess, and that's something I'm going to _have_ to deal with, but just _can't_."

-

Frank lay awake in a spare bed in a spare room for what felt like hours, because he felt scared and he felt alone, and he felt like running back home, not even to his apartment, but _home_ , to Jersey, to the woods, to the mess that had started this all, but he daren't play games with fate, especially when he was already this fucked.

With time, Frank resorted to sitting up in bed, and fumbling behind him for a light switch, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and lighting one, because Frank had become quite the addict within recent years, and it definitely wasn't his worst habit, to say the least.

Because if Frank had to pin down a ' _worst_ ' habit, it had to be the inability to get over one pretty boy from ten years ago, who had just happened to have fucked him up a little, in all senses of that word.

Goddamn, Frank had lost his virginity to Gerard, and that was horrible kind of one thirty eight am realisation, because it was simultaneously too early and too late for this, and Frank felt something like sick, but found himself without the motivation to move out of bed, and get himself some water or something, or _anything_ really, and he found himself settling to compensate himself with starring at bleak, empty, peach coloured walls of a bedroom that clearly hadn't been used in years.

Frank wondered what his life would have turned out like if he'd never met Gerard, if he'd just been normal, perhaps even if his mother had never died, and he'd just been a normal, 'happy' guy; he reckoned then he'd be nothing, except perhaps then the one with the spare room - never used with peach walls, but Frank didn't want that at all.

Because as much as they had destroyed him, Frank knew that it was the vices that had made something significant out of short, dark haired boy from New Jersey.

Of course there was the parallel universe pipedream possibility of perhaps the peach coloured, never used spare room belonging not to Frank, but to Gerard too, because maybe in this version of reality, Frank had been happy with his mum still alive, and Gerard had been as happy too, and perhaps the two _had_ met, but perhaps things had been smoother, and perhaps they would have moved to New York together, as soon as Frank made it out of high school, and perhaps they'd sit in that shitty Starbucks together, but Frank didn't know if he wanted that.

In reality, Frank didn't know what he wanted; his mind constructed of little more than the short term and temporary, 'in the moment' kind of thoughts, because Frank didn't live for the future, because quite honestly, Frank didn't see himself with much of a future, and as depressing as it was, he couldn't shake the truth that it seemed to hold.

Here he was: alone, and here he was, with something like three, at best, friends, and not even the ghost of his dead ex-boyfriend haunting him and ruining his life too; fuck, he really was pathetic, and right then, come one fifty one am, Frank filled his lungs with nicotine and considering stopping breathing all together.

Because what difference would it make?

Sure, it'd make somewhat of a difference, but nothing significant; nothing that should be worth anybody's time for that matter, and perhaps even the more he thought, the more it seemed to make sense.

He'd make it quick; he'd make it silent, he'd leave because Ray and Christa didn't deserve to clean up this kind of mess, and he'd make it back home, and he'd make it to the balcony and he'd sort things from there, and he'd make it right; he'd make amends to himself and the broken future and the ache inside his heart.

Because no matter how much Christa Toro smiled, there was no questioning the fact that she'd prefer to be alone in this house with Ray, and no matter how much Ray Toro was stubborn, there was no questioning that he wished to be rid of this mess in the first place, and no matter how much Brendon listened when he was a little less intoxicated, there was no questioning that he felt Frank was the eternal third wheel, weighing him and Ryan down, and no matter how much Ryan seemed to care, Frank couldn't quite trick himself that he really did.

And no matter how many years Frank had spent fucking up his life, and then, in consequence, no matter how many years Frank had spent in some sort of feeble state of attempting to rectify that, he was still always the same.

Pathetic, hopeless, _useless_.

"I'm useless." He told himself aloud, his words leaving a horrible kind of sting in the silence. "No one wants me here; no one loves me, no one cares."

And silence, and Frank almost half expected some sort of confirmation or reply of some sort, but nothing, and Frank found himself getting to his feet, only to find a hand on his shoulder: _cold_.

"I thought that too."

-

It was a life of routine: a world of waking up every morning, eating breakfast, talking to people you didn't like, sitting alone, talking to more people you didn't like, eating something else, sitting alone for a while longer, and eating dinner, before sitting alone until you eventually fell asleep, and it had been Frank's whole _world_ for years.

And even if he'd been away from it for years too, it was still always there, at the back of his head; the room he didn't have the key to, and the man with the half hearted smile, and the pills in their multitudes.

It was gone, but not really, just locked away in the corner of Frank's mind, ready to be accessed, perhaps _triggered_ at anytime, and there was simply no time greater than the moment in which Frank felt unfamiliar, but of course, always _familiar_ fingertips on his shoulder.

Because in that very moment, twenty eight year old Frank Iero didn't feel alive or real at all, and even in comparison to the ghost behind him, he felt like the one who might fade away.

And perhaps Frank was simply just nowhere near as happy and _relieved_ to see Gerard as he should have been, and perhaps that was little more than a result of the fact that although his body was in Ray Toro's spare bedroom, his head was back _there_ , in a world he had no control of, in a world he had no control of _himself_ in.

And Frank even felt like _crying_ , but he didn't, perhaps he couldn't, perhaps it didn't matter, perhaps it was all an over exaggerated mess, but whatever it was, the whole damn world felt like it was down to those fingertips on his shoulder and the heaviness of his heart, and how this was all unarguably the fault of the man behind the fingertips.

"Fuck off." Frank hadn't even expected the words to leave his lips, and for him to make the same mistake again, but this didn’t feel the slightest bit real at all, and Frank felt like it was two in the morning on a different day, and his fist was about to connect with the face of the red haired man who stood behind him, flickering a little as the dodgy light bulb varied the levels of light in the room from time to time.

"No." Gerard was something like adamant this time; something like adamant to go against Frank's every wish, because he could never just be nice and make things easy for him, could he?

"You were more than happy to before-" Frank protested, perhaps even just for the sake of it, perhaps just to prove a point, because he knew that deep down inside, he wanted to cling tight to Gerard and never _ever_ let go, never again.

"Well, I've realised how wrong I was now, and how I really can't leave you alone, can I?" Gerard's lips pulled up into a small smile as he stepped closer to Frank, looking just a little more real, just a slightly more believable illusion, and if Frank squinted a little, just perhaps he could trick himself into thinking that everything was and would be okay.

"I'm not a baby, Gerard, I'm _older_ than you." Frank let out a sigh, reaching for Gerard's hand as he lost all self control and gripping it tight.

The 'younger' man smiled, only taking his eyes off their hands after a good few moments of complacent staring, "you're _my_ baby," he added with something awfully reminiscent of a smirk, and Frank was just too relieved to slap him, because maybe he was wrong, and maybe this was everything, and maybe his head was okay, but every time he blinked he kept catching flashes of hospital walls and faces he didn't recognise, "and you're only _technically_ older than me."

"Because, oh yeah, you'd be _thirty two_ , right now, wouldn't you?" Frank raised his eyebrows at that, leaning his head against Gerard's chest, "you'd like that wouldn't you?"

"God no." He trailed off, shaking his head, and clutching Frank's hand tighter as he led him back to the bed, and the two lay down with their sides pressed together.

"Why did you go? What did you do? I'm so confused, Gerard, I... please just say something that makes some sense-"

"I love you." And Gerard was like a punch to the face, and one that the puncher had _really_ meant, and therefore hurt twice as much.

"That doesn't make sense at all, Gerard-"

"Of course it does, it's the simplest thing, and you know that Frankie, it's what we are: lovers, it's what we're made for, isn't it? You're the cute one and I'm the hot one, and we're Gee and Frankie, and-"

"And you're _dead_ -"

"And you're _bitter_." Gerard shook his head in disbelief, grinning a little as the twenty eight year old began to seriously consider slapping him across the face. "I'm sorry, I can't deal with this, I can't deal with _you_ , because I was okay, but with us talking all the time, and it's like this again, and it's just _us_ , and I... I can't help falling for you, and you can't help hating me, and I'm scared of everything, but especially the truth."

And silence, a _prolonged_ silence, and Gerard even began to wonder if Frank had fallen asleep or something, which would most certainly be the worst response he'd ever received from a heartfelt confession, but Frank didn't have much competition; Gerard was practically anything _but_ the heartfelt confession type.

"Why do I want to forgive you?" And when Frank broke the silence, it was with a genuine question.

And Gerard was just a little stumped, "because you love me too," and it was pushing it, but Gerard was already metaphorically on his hands and knees for Frank, and perhaps he doing all he could to make that a little less metaphorical and a little more literal.

"Do you have any dignity at all?"

"Absolutely not."

And something like a smile, as Frank buried his head into the pillow, and neither of the two men said another word.

-

 


	10. And Frank Looked At Gerard Like He Was On 'The Office'

Frank had told Ray that everything was okay, and perhaps it wasn't such a lie, and perhaps he was indeed fine, but perhaps he really shouldn't measure his emotional wellbeing on whether when he lied he caught a glimpse of a smirk of a redhead figure's lips in the corner of his eye.

Christa had at least been persuasive and had urged Ray to just let Frank go in a manner that would leave Frank suspecting that she really didn't want him in her home at all, and Frank couldn’t fucking imagine why, because it wasn't like he was _insane_ was it?

Frank had let Ray practically force-feed him some breakfast, before making his way to the spare room, and trying to avoid staring at the walls, and catching sight of any of those rampantly insane thoughts that had bothered him many hours ago, but that was all it was: _hours_.

And Frank had something close to a headache as he grabbed the packet of cigarettes from the bedside table, and contemplated just what the _fuck_ he was doing with his life: whether he was making the right decision, that kind of nonsense, but of course, in reality, there was really little such thing as the ' _right'_ decision, just a few that didn't entirely fuck you over.

But still, Frank reckoned that every choice open to him right now was destined to little more than absolutely fuck his life to shreds, and still, Frank pulled on a hoodie, and met his reflection in the mirror and regretted it instantly.

" _Fuck_." He sighed allowed, shaking his head in synchronisation with the man behind the glass, who indeed looked like him, but wasn't really _him_ at all: for a start, the figure on the other side of the mirror was missing the asshole with the scarlet red hair beside him, who flickered in the light and barely looked real at all.

Frank shuddered, taking Gerard's hand and pulling him closer. The 'younger' man raised his eyebrows at that, following Frank's gaze back to the mirror, where suddenly, a flicker of Gerard's reflection began to materialise.

"How the _fuck_ does that work?" Frank snapped, somewhat in awe as he glanced between 'real' Gerard, and what he could see of mirror Gerard.

Gerard shrugged it off, not entirely sure himself, but he really reckoned that Frank was in anything but the state to just take an 'I don't know' for an answer. "I guess it's something to do with the fact that the closer I am to you, the more 'real' I get, well, I get closer to your dimension of existence, like I'm floating away a little, all the time, but when you hold my hand, it sort of grounds me a little: not entirely, but a little."

"I don't think I could ever let go of your hand again now." Frank muttered, and perhaps he wasn't even exaggerating, because the prospect of Gerard just 'floating away' seemed little short of a fucking _nightmare_ , but if that was a nightmare, what could Frank possibly call his life?

"It's fine, I'm gonna stay here with you, Frankie, you know that, now come on, we've gotta go home, haven't we?" Gerard paused, turning to meet Frank's reflection, "Christa's starting to notice, you know?"

" _Fuck_." Frank shuddered at that, shaking his head a little, because he was so fucking fucked, and he so just _couldn't_ deal with that at all, but as with everything, he found he had little choice.

"Yeah, come on, baby, let's just go-"

" _Baby_." Frank repeated, shaking his head in the silence for a moment, as Gerard almost seemed to grind to a halt, and Frank's heart practically pounded right out of his chest. "Baby..." He repeated once more, looking up to meet Gerard's gaze. "W- Why... why are you still calling me that?"

"Because you're my baby." And Gerard said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, his voice perhaps little more than a whisper, but the words meaning the absolute world.

"I _was_ Gerard, that was... when I was eighteen and you were twenty two, and now I'm twenty eight and you're still twenty two, and I'll be thirty eight, and you'll still be twenty two, I'll be forty eight, I'll be fifty eight, I'll be sixty eight, I'll be seventy eight, and then I'll probably get lung cancer and not make it any further, but I'll still be twenty two, and _you-_ "

"But when you die, I 'die', I mean, I have no one tying me down to the living world, so I have to go... I have to go wherever else there is to go: I don't know, I'm sorry, Frankie, but I don't know what the hell is to happen to us." Gerard shook his head, clutching Frank's hand a little tighter. "You're always going to be my baby."

"And you're always going to be the world's biggest sweetheart and the world's biggest asshole at the same time." Frank shook his head, not even entirely sure if there was any sort of endearing intent behind his words at all.

"Maybe, maybe not." Gerard shrugged, pulling away from Frank a little, "come on, before they hear you talking to yourself; that's not going to look like a good sign, you know?"

"B-but...." Frank's eyes widened in disbelief. "Talking to _myself_? I... _Gerard_..."

"You're not, of course you're not, but... that's what _they_ think, isn't it? The doctors think that too? They call you schizophrenic, they say I'm in your head, they tell you to forget me, and they tell you to ignore this, they tell you to be _scared_ of your boyfriend, and they _fuck_ with your head, more than I ever could, and you know that, don't you, Frankie? But you don't, because their lies are deadset into your head, and there's no escaping that, is there?"

"I... Gerard... I-"

"You're not schizophrenic, Frankie, come on, hold my hand." And Frank did, shaking a little as he did so, because Gerard's tone wasn't exactly the most pleasant thing in the world. "There you go? Are you hallucinating this? Is this real? Who the fuck knows? I do, though, because I can see so many things that you _can't_ , Frankie; I'm not in your dimension and I'm not quite in mine, I'm between the two, I get overlap, I see patterns, I... everything's blurry, because I'm standing too close but if you look away and visualise the bigger picture... I see _everything_ , and you get that, don't you? I can see Ray and Christa in the kitchen right now, they're talking, Ray is getting suspicious, so is Christa, but she's trying not to let it get to her or her husband; she doesn’t want you gone, she believes in ghosts, you know? But she'd never admit that to Ray-"

"Gerard, _fuck_ , you're scaring me, I..." Frank bit his lip, shaking his head and turning away into the silence.

"I'm sorry baby." And cold arms around his waist, and cold lips against the back of his neck: gentle, too fast, too soon, but somehow _everything_ in the world.

-

Frank and Gerard hadn't spoken throughout the whole journey home: it'd just cause inconvenience and people to stare at Frank and wonder just what he was doing engaging in conversation with the nothingness beside him, but Gerard remained close to Frank, in his sights, and perhaps the older man could kid himself that it was enough.

He locked his front door behind him, and Gerard stood there, his gaze something like fixated on the back wall, and the balcony, and the window, and his mind on that night, that night, and Frank's punch, and _everything_ and the mess they'd made, and how Gerard said it was okay now, but it wasn't, it really wasn't.

And it was just like everything that had happened when he was alive: every mistake and every mess, and how they'd simply brushed over that for relief that they could be with one another again, but they could never quite possibly forget just how _fucked_ up everything had been, could they?

Gerard shook his head in disbelief, not at all intent on focusing on the past, but at times like this, he really couldn't help himself, and perhaps that was exactly what was going to fucking ruin him in the end, but if he could be with Frank, Gerard reckoned he'd let the whole world burn.

"Gerard?" Frank asked, tentatively approached the vacant eyed figure; Gerard flickering rapidly, and almost in an alarming manner, like sparking electricity that would kill him if he touched it.

"I..." Gerard exhaled loudly, his eyes widening as they met Frank's, and he pulled the older man as close to him as possible, grounding himself in the moment, and doing everything in his power not to cry. "I'm _sorry_."

And Frank found himself more than just a little confused as the red head pulled his arms tightly around Frank, not ever intent on letting go.

" _Hey_... hey..." Frank pulled Gerard away, just a little, so that their face were centimetres apart, and their hands in one another's, and Gerard felt real enough, just for now. "Why are you sorry? Gee, what's wrong?"

And that was when Gerard really started to cry, and quite honestly, Frank hadn't reckoned Gerard Way capable of crying, but of course, he found himself in the wrong for the millionth time.

" _Gee_ , please... I... what's wrong? Tell me, come on..." Frank pleaded, moving one hand away from Gerard's to brush the hair from the 'younger' man's face, and wipe the tears, as he met his gaze once more.

"Gee." Gerard repeated, shaking his head in something like disbelief. "You called me Gee. You haven't called me Gee for ten years, you know that? What the fuck's changed?"

"I..." Frank's eyes widened a little as he revelled in the realisation. "I didn't even, I... I... it just came out, _naturally_ , I... I'm sorry, Gee."

"God, you... I feel like I'm falling apart whenever you call me that, you know?" Gerard shook his head in disbelief, smiling just a little, because Frank was so insanely beautiful, and he was so insanely fucked, but in that moment, perhaps he could pretend that things were just like they had been before everything fell apart.

"How the fuck do you think I feel when you say Frankie or Baby, then?" Frank shook his head, pressing their foreheads together, and perhaps in that moment, it felt like there was really another man close to him, and not just a reality he'd concocted for himself.

And just then, just once, Frank didn't feel like he was about to wake up at any moment: to wake up, perhaps in the same hospital, the same bed, the same hell, the same emptiness, but no, this was real, and Frank was certain of that.

So very certain, so very _fucking_ certain: unbelievably certain, and Gerard's smile, and the stupid words, and stupider smiles, and the fucking _tears_ were proof enough.

"I'm sorry." Gerard repeated, muttering the words like they held weight on his lips. "I'm sorry for that day, because I don't think about it, but I am now, and you think about it all the time, and I can't bear this, and I can't understand how you bear it all the time, and I'm _so_ sorry, I..."

"Why..." Frank shook his head, knowing he was taking a risk here, " _Why_ the fuck did you do it? Come on, Gee, you know you've given me absolutely nothing in regards to an explanation here."

"I did it because I was fucked up enough to think that by removing myself from the situation I was saving you, but now I see that it isn't so: I reckon we kind of fit together, like we're _made_ to be together, as soppy as it sounds, but I need you, and I know you need me too, and I'm so sorry, but look, I'm here now, and that's the best we're going to get but-"

"It's not enough, it's really not, Gerard." Frank shook his head, "I'm sorry, but ten fucking years, I... you have _no_ idea: you really don't, you get that, don't you? But you don't, you never could and you never will, because I don't think you ever truly understand just how much I loved you. And how much it hurt: how much I cried, how much everyone cried, you don't fucking have a clue, you know that, Gerard?"

"I'm sorry." He repeated, his voice weak and shaking a little.

"Fuck you, Gerard."

"Why the _fuck_ are you all 'Gee, please' begging me for an explanation but when I do give it you, why are you all 'fuck you, Gerard' - that's what makes no sense, Frank?"

And Frank shook his head in disbelief, at a loss for any form of explanation. "I don't know."

"It's not good enough."

"I know; I could never be good enough, not for you."

-

And it was a banging on Frank's door at seven in the morning, that had him rolling out of bed and onto the floor with a series of unfortunate, angry grunts and moans, and a chorus of half-hearted, sleepy laughter from the figure in the other side of the bed.

"Fuck you." Frank groaned, stumbling to his feet, and grabbing his shirt from last night from the floor.

"Been there, done that, got _your_ t-shirt!" He smirked, pulling the shirt from Frank's hands like the world's most annoying toddler, and all while the banging on Frank's door only increased.

"Give me my fucking shirt, Gerard." Frank shook his head in disbelief, reaching his hand out for Gerard to place it back in his hand. "Come on, I can't answer the door shirtless, can I?"

"Sure you can." Gerard smirked, moving the shirt under his head, and rolling over and using it like a pillow. "Go on, go answer the door, Frankie."

Frank threw him the most vigorous middle finger known to mankind as he stumbled towards the closet, and ignored all urges to climb into it and hide away forever, as he grabbed a shirt, and pulled it over his head, cursing to himself as he finally made his way to the door, and wondered if the person outside had actually died of old age in the time it had taken him to answer, which, of course, was totally _one hundred percent_ Gerard's fault, not that that was something he could casually explain to whoever it was though.

"You took your time!" Brendon exclaimed, barging into Frank's apartment before the shorter of the two could even fathom protesting. 

"Bren!" Frank exclaimed, watching as his asshole of a best friend made himself far too comfortable on the sofa. "Now is really not a good time!" He protested, shaking his head firmly, and as if the situation could not get any worse at all, a _naked_ Gerard Way made his way into the room to see what was going on.

Gerard made sure Frank was of course very well aware that Brendon couldn't see him as he stood there, all too casually with his dick out.

"Quite possibly the worst timing ever." Frank shook his head, directing his words at both Brendon and Gerard. "But what is it?" He asked Brendon _exclusively_ this time.

"I've _done_ it, Frankie, I've found you a date, and you're going on a date today, and he's totally your type and even Ryan approved him, and it's going to be great and you're going to be happy." Brendon's face lit up into a grin, and Frank looked at Gerard like he was on 'The Office'.

"No, not today, can't do today, can't do ever either; I don't want to go on dates, especially not with people _you've_ 'approved' - he's probably a serial killer or something, knowing you." Frank shook his head, looking at Gerard to gauge his reaction, and well, to say the least, jealousy was something Gerard really did struggle with.

"I'm not gonna leave until you say yes-"

"Brendon's that manipulation, you're _manipulating_ me." Frank shook his head in disbelief. "Look, I don't feel so good, can we talk about this later, I just really need to go back to bed." And Frank even coughed for effect.

Brendon shook his head, but there was a stubborn look in Frank's eyes and he didn't have all the time in the world, "fuck, whatever, get better soon, because you're fucking going on a date with this dude, okay? He finds you attractive, I'll text you a picture of him-"

"Yeah, whatever, Brendon, fuck _off_ , I need to go back to bed before I die of the plague or something."

Brendon shook his head, "you've got a cough at best; you're the worst liar in the world, Frank," and with that he closed the front door behind him.

And just like that, Frank barely had a moment to breathe before Gerard had him pinned against the wall, their bodies pressed up close to one another. 

" _Fuck_." Frank choked out, his eyes widening as he looked up a little to meet Gerard's.

"Come on, Frankie, you need to get to _bed_ , right now." Gerard snapped, clearly pissed off, clearly jealous, and Frank was just a little bit nervous, to say the least. "Or we could sort this out right here and right now, because you're _mine_ , Frankie, my baby, you're not- you fucking dare-"

"Why would I, Gee?" Frank shook his head, leaning his head back against the wall. “It’s just _Brendon_ : I can be ill forever, can't I?"

But Gerard had come to conclude that actions definitely spoke louder than words, as Frank found the 'younger' boy's response to come in the from of his mouth around Frank's cock, which was just a little bit of surprise, to say the least, and Frank couldn't help but wonder what Brendon would think if he came back now and saw Frank's dick being sucked by little more than thin air.

" _Fucking_ hell, Gerard." Frank exclaimed, moaning a little as Gerard took more of his dick down his throat, only to stop and pull off completely, leaving Frank whining like _fuck_ , as Gerard simply smirked up at him.

"You know I literally have _no_ gag reflex now?" And that was all it took, before Frank was literally _fucking_ Gerard's mouth, because he needed to get off, and he needed to get off right now, and he didn't care about anything in the world besides Gerard's mouth and his dick.

It didn't take too long before Frank was coming like hell itself down Gerard's throat, well, technically speaking, the come kind of just shot through him, and landed on the floor regardless, but neither of the two were at all in the mood to get into the logistics of things in that moment.

And Gerard pressed himself up against Frank, "fucking get me off, _please_ , I..." He begged, grabbing Frank's hand and placing it around his dick, thrusting a little, and Frank was shaking like hell, barely able to move, but fuck, he did as he was told, because Gerard and rationality were two entirely different things.

And perhaps Frank kind of liked it that way.

-


	11. In Which Frank Whores Himself Out For Coffee

The two were sat in Brendon's living room, only half focused on the shitty show on TV, and more so upon the subject of conversation between the two of them, which was of course, none other than Frank Iero, once again.

"I'm worried about him." Ryan reiterated for what Brendon was sure was the millionth time, but he couldn't help but share his boyfriend's worries, because after all, it wasn't like they weren't within reason, and after all, it wasn't like Frank wasn't keeping pretty much his whole damn life one big massive secret from the two of them in the recent past.

"I don't know what we can do, though, Frank's always going to get defensive and pissed off and deny everything because he's Frank and that's what he does, and it just makes sense for him, but it just confuses us, and I really just don't know what to do about it... I mean, it's obvious that he's not okay, but I'm pretty sure that it's not at all obvious to him."

"How could it not be?" Ryan exclaimed, shaking his head, "he _knows_ , he just doesn't want to admit it, because he's Frank and he's a little shit, and we all know that-"

"No, I kind of think he can't actually see it... it's like that you never really see yourself as others see you, or like you always have different opinions on things you've made such as art or whatever, because you've made them, and that personal connection biases your perspective or something: I think that's what it is... I mean, it's gradual, like he doesn't notice it, because it's slow, and it's now normal for him, but we do, because we're the outside opinion, if you get what I mean?"

"You should like Frank trying to talk himself out of something: are you sure he hasn't possessed you or something?" Brendon shrugged off his boyfriend's comment, rolling his eyes, and laughing a little as he did so.

Ryan let out a sigh as he turned back to the TV, and soon grew impatience, leading his finger to the remote and the off switch, "I can't concentrate anymore, I just... we _need_ to do something about Frank and stop just discarding it for another time, because that's what we're always going to do at this rate, and we _can't_ , because Frank's our _friend_ , and he may not see it, but he needs us."

Brendon nodded, turning to face his boyfriend with a hopeful kind of encouraging look that Brendon could only possibly offer to someone he thought as much of as Ryan; the two had one hell of a something, to say the least. "So what do you propose, because I'm all out of fucking ideas, you know?"

"I know." Ryan nodded, pausing for a moment: deep in thought, "it'd help if Frank let more people into his life, you know? Because like this it's just us and we don't... does Frank even speak to his family, because he's _never_ mentioned them to me?"

Brendon paused, having never really thought much of this before, "no... he's _never_ mentioned much... that's... that's really _odd_."

"He doesn't talk about himself much though; he's definitely the listener, but still, it's weird, like how much do we actually know about him at all? I can't help but feel like he keeps _too_ much quite, like there's some sort of secret he's hiding here, or something... I don't know... I don't get it... I don't get _him_ at all, actually."

"Me neither." Brendon let out a sigh, "I wish I did though; he must feel so alone, god, I dread to know what's going on inside his head."

"But in the same way I just wish we could find out." Ryan added, glancing at his cellphone for a moment, perhaps just to check the time. "We could just try talking to him like _bluntly_ about this, because I don't know... maybe direct questions will do the trick - it's harder to lie directly, isn't it?"

"I don't know, I really don't, I just wish he'd be honest for once, because I feel like every bit of information we get from him is just some half lie to cover up something hidden deep inside himself, and god... I don't even want to know what that is, for the most part, that is."

"But we _have_ to find out-"

"But _how_?" Brendon let out an exhausted kind of sigh as he leaned back against the sofa. "We don't really have any better ideas than just talking to him, and like hell that's going to work."

"It might." Ryan added, narrowing his eyes a little.

"It won't." Brendon shook his head: far too certain of himself for Ryan's liking.

"Whatever you say, Bren-"

"Are you seriously just going to storm into his apartment and look him dead in the eyes and yell some questions at him and expect some form of response, because knowing Frank he's not even going to be out of bed yet, and there's just no fucking chance whatsoever that he's going to be at all inclined to tell you, you realise that, don't you?"

"Of course I _realise_ it, but that doesn't mean I can't try, does it? Like hell, Bren, what are you going to say to me if I go ask him and he just explains in some deep heart to heart- _fuck_!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes suddenly growing unnervingly wide.

"What?" Brendon paused, looking at his boyfriend with a certain confusion.

"We have to get him _drunk_ : it's obvious, people spit all sorts of shit out when they're drunk, don't they? So we'll just get him drunk, but not _too_ drunk, but drunk enough and then casually start asking him shit, and then maybe we'll have some success-"

"Ryan, I don't mean to piss you off but that's an awful lot like drugging him, not going to lie." Brendon smiled at his boyfriend, shaking his head a little, "but fucking go for it, _you_ do, because there's no way in hell that I'm letting you drag me into this mess-"

"It's _Frank's_ mess, it's _our_ mess - it's a shared mess, you have no choice, Brendon, hey, you know what? I'm going to go over to his now and prove you the _fuck_ wrong."

Brendon chuckled a little, raising his eyebrows as his boyfriend got to his feet. "Hey, if you get _anything_ of value out of him, I'll suck your dick."

Ryan smirked, "that’s a fucking deal, Urie," because there was no way he was leaving Frank's apartment without something now.

-

Frank was at the point where it's almost normal, despite it being the weirdest damn thing on this planet, but of course, to him, Gerard is so much more important than the whole damn universe, and perhaps that means something: the kind of something that keeps the two together, maybe this is special, or maybe it's just luck, maybe it's just chance, maybe this is all destined to fade away, perhaps this is temporary, and perhaps one day Frank will wake up alone, and then things will stay that way forever, even without a goodbye.

And Frank can't imagine that, because Gerard looked absolutely beautiful in the sheets next to him, and he can't motivate himself to get out of bed, and leave him alone, let alone, let Gerard leave him alone forever, because this matters: they matter, and he wants Gerard to kiss him again, but Frank was far too scared to ask.

He knew Gerard wasn't asleep; he might be pretending, but not really, but still, he couldn't quite ready himself for the eye contact and the conversation and of course what could possibly stem from there, because Frank wasn't ready; this was all he wanted, but still, he reckoned he couldn't quite accept it yet.

That hurt a lot, it really did, and perhaps Gerard more than Frank; the Gerard that lay awake and aware too, the Gerard that lay waiting, the Gerard that lay scared too, the Gerard that was perhaps worthy of Frank ten years ago, but was nothing now.

Because for Frank Iero, Gerard reckoned he wouldn't mind being thirty three, _forty three_ , even, fucking a hundred and three; he'd do it all, all too much for one beautiful boy who was smiling at him like he hadn't noticed.

"Morning." Gerard mumbled, shuffling closer to Frank: yearning for every bit of body contact he could get.

"Hey..." Frank sighed out, his words warm against Gerard's icy cold back. "Morning," he added once more, with little else to say for himself.

"You need to get up: Brendon texted you twenty minutes ago, he wants to meet you at Starbucks and he wants to talk to you... about... that _date_..." Gerard trailed off, leaning onto his back and groaning, "what am I going to do, Frankie, when you have that boyfriend, and I'm just here: stuck with you?"

"I... I... I'm not going to date some fuckwit that Brendon sets me up with." Frank met Gerard's gaze, "and that's a promise, because... that just doesn't make sense at all, you know?"

"Why doesn't it?"

And Frank quite honestly didn't know.

He lay there in silence for a moment, focused on Gerard pressed up against him: making him far too cold, but far too happy, and the way that the curtains were already open, and there was coffee on his bedside table.

"You made me coffee?" Frank's eyes widened as he turned to the mug on the table.

"Oh, shit yeah, I forgot about that, I'm sorry, but I'm hoping it's not too cold, I-"

"Why?" Frank raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of the coffee Gerard had made for him, before putting it back down.

"Because... I don't know, I wanted to make you smile when you woke up." Gerard shrugged it off, blushing more than ever imaginable.

"You remembered? For ten years? You remembered how I like my coffee?" Frank exclaimed, grabbing Gerard's hand, and _tightly_ too.

"I guess so, yeah." And if ghosts could blush, Gerard's face would have been the exact colour of his hair.

"You're something else, you know that? Because this is weird, and we're weird, but I can't... Gerard... I don't know what I'm doing anymore, what I'm thinking... when it comes to you, that is..." Frank paused, biting his bottom lip and shaking a little.

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows, "I... I'm sorry? What did I do?"

Frank just shook his head, looking Gerard up and down, before grabbing his hands and pulling him closer, before pressing his lips against Gerard's, and Gerard reckoned that this was him dying for the second time: right then, and right there.

"You're ridiculous." Frank shook his head as he pulled away, "but you're everything, and I'm a mess, and this is a mess, and still I get no explanation for the way you fucked with my head, but that's you, and perhaps it'll come with time. I miss you, Gee, I... I... _love_ you... Gee... it's fucking things up again, already, isn't it?"

"God, if you go on that date now I'm going to slap you." Gerard shook his head, at a loss for how to react, but letting Frank lean into his chest, and hold onto his hand tighter than ever before.

"I couldn't... I... we have something, don't you think? Or am I just stupid?"

Gerard paused, in thought, because Frank deserved the world and not the fucked up ex-boyfriend who was dead on the outside, and barely there at all, but Gerard's whole world revolved around him, and he wasn't a selfless man at all. "You're not stupid."

"Good." Frank sucked in a quick, sharp breath of air as he looked Gerard over once more and seriously considered kissing him, but properly this time, perhaps more making out than kissing, perhaps even fucking, because Brendon could go fuck Ryan for all Frank cared.

"You can do better though-"

"I don't want better: I want you." And the sincerity of Frank's words was enough to break the silence in two.

"You're stupid as fuck, you know that, because think back ten years, think about how I fucked your life up, think about the next five in the hospital and think about your head and the mess it was in: think about the pills, think about Mikey, think about the funeral, think about the forest, think about Bert, think about the road trip, think about the arguments, think about that morning, think about the oblivion, think about the forest, think about the coffee shops, think about the secrets, think about my reluctance: think about _you_ , not about me."

"That's the past; I'm thinking about this morning and kissing you and fucking you and holding your hand so fucking tight, and spending today together, and never leaving your side, and spending forever together, or as long as this lasts, because it's one of those too good to be true things, don't you think? You coming back, I mean-"

"Frank, I didn't 'come back', I never fucking left not really, I was in my body, and then I wasn't, I was stood at that tree, I couldn't control myself as I was then, but I could see and sense and hear, and I watched my body die, and I looked at the note and I regretted the shortness of it, and the pills, and the mess I'd made, because I had to _watch_ , Frank, I stood there invisible as you found me, because I was hoping, fuck, I was _praying_ that it'd be someone else, anyone else, fucking Bert, I don't care, but no, I had to watch you think that everything was okay and that I was alive, only for it to all fall to pieces as you fell to your knees in front of me and _cried_ , and I couldn't show myself then, I couldn’t' explain: I didn't know how, and I followed you forever after that, and I'm sorry about everything, because I understand because I was there, and it's okay that you didn't make it through my funeral, I couldn't expect you to, but what you said was beautiful, because everything you say is perfect, everything about you is perfect, Frankie."

"Why don't you tell me these things?" And it was a genuine question: a genuine wide eyed, heavy hearted question, as Frank’s breathing came in far too sporadic bursts.

"Because I tried to forget, because it hurts, and because I'm ashamed, and the... the hospital, I'm sorry, Frank... I... I... the therapist's office... that was a mistake, that was the first time, that was me fucking up, that was me calling out to you, that was me... that was me trying to just get your attention but going about it in entirely the wrong way... I wasn't in control of myself by that point, in fact, I barely am now, but it's much better, definitely much better."

"That fucked my life up, you know, you fucking my life up, showing yourself to me-"

"I was just trying to let you know I was okay-" Gerard protested, all wide eyes and honest pleads.

"You weren't okay, and neither was I, and if you wanted things to work then why the _fuck_ did you kill yourself? It was the worst idea, Gerard, the worst fucking idea you've ever had, and you know that, don't you? You know I can't forgive you for that, or myself for letting it happen-"

"Fucking hell, Frank, it's _not_ your fault-"

"If we'd never had that argument that morning, would you still have stormed off? If I had run after you instead of just giving up and sitting there forever would I maybe have stopped you?"

"I don't know." Gerard let out a sigh, "it doesn't matter, Frank, I'm sorry, that's all I can say, that's really all I can say, except perhaps something stupid, perhaps I should have said this ages ago, perhaps not, but I love you too, Frankie, always have, always will, and you can think whatever you want about that, about me, about 'us', about anything, but you can't ever think that any of this mess is your fault."

Frank sat up in bed, running a hand back through his hair, as he grabbed the coffee from the table and sipped it in silence for a moment or two, leaving Gerard lying back on the bed, perhaps a little faded, perhaps a little lost.

"I'm thinking," Frank added, perhaps a moment or so later, "I'm thinking, because my head is fucked, and that _is_ your fault."

"I know." Gerard sighed, stretching his arms a little as he watched Frank drink in silence. "I do make some good coffee though."

"Definitely better than Brendon, better than _Ryan_ , even." Frank exclaimed, a smile gracing his lips as he placed the cup back down on the table and turned to face Gerard. "You just wish I loved people based solely on how good coffee they could make."

"Don't lie to me and say you don't, you're a coffee slut, like you'd totally whore yourself out, like _even_ for decaf-"

"Decaf is shit." Frank shook his head, "I'd maybe whore myself out for a vanilla latte though, but only to someone special."

"Someone like me?" Gerard asked, and Frank laughed: a breathy kind of nervous laughter, because there was no denying that Gerard was the stomach butterfly overlord in Frank's eyes.

"Ah, but... you can't go to Starbucks and get me one, being dead and all that, can you?" Gerard shook his head, sighing a little.

"I wish I could, just for you, just to make you happy, like seriously, if I could, I would in a fucking heartbeat, that's a fucking promise, but-"

"But I'd have to come with you which kind of defeats the point of you getting me Starbucks, and like Brendon works there, and he'll shoot me on sight for being late."

"You better just get ready then, he's gonna get angry if you don't turn up." Gerard smiled at him, content with this, as content as he'd ever be.

"I'm not going to turn up: you're more important, and you _know_ that-"

"Don't fuck with my ego like that, Iero-"

"I _mean_ it." Frank whispered, "you really are something, Gee, like I don't usually date dead guys, but it seems you are my exception."

"Oh fuck off." Gerard waved it off, but Frank shook his head, far too focused on Gerard and his lips, and what kind of hell he was sending himself to here to notice the lock on the door clicking and the footsteps in his front room, and even Ryan Ross entering his bedroom, and giving him little short of a heart attack.

"Brendon's getting pissed, _Frank_ , come on, you're even awake, what are you doing?"

Frank's eyes widened as he turned to Ryan, blushing like hell, "uhh... nothing... I... I just got up-"

"You look far too good for that." Ryan narrowed his eyes, because Frank's words were as believable as Brendon trying to tell you that he was straight.

"I look good-"

"Frank, fuck off, what's going on, you've been weird, recently especially and you... just _explain_ , please-"

And then motion in the bed beside Frank, Ryan's eyes widening at what he _saw_ , "sorry, hi, I'm Gerard."

-


	12. im too tired to think of a chapter name smh

And in that moment, Frank's head was filled with entirely too many emotions for him to even begin considering to comprehend as he found himself trapped in a continuous loop of glancing back and forth between Ryan and Gerard as the room hung in an odd kind of silence.

Because Gerard  _hadn't_  just done that, but he  _had_ , and Frank fucking longed to be able to slap the shit out of him like never before, because god, now everything was complicated and Ryan was going to ask questions, and tell Brendon and Brendon would make it a million times worse with a million more questions, and a million times the mess, and as Gerard grinned, leaning into Frank's side, with bright red hair sticking up at the most odd angles, it became all too evident that he really didn't care at all.

" _Oh..._  I... I...  _uh_..." Ryan genuinely looked like he was about to have a panic attack, and Frank didn’t quite blame him, because he was also expecting that Ryan might see some dude in his bed as little as Ryan was, but of course, Frank couldn't comfort him with that, because he couldn't know that sometimes Ryan couldn’t see Gerard, and he had to believe that Gerard was  _human_ , and fuck this kind of facade was so much harder, and Ryan didn't even fucking need to know that Gerard even existed.

Frank simply wished he was better at lying to people's faces, because that was seriously a skill he was going to be counting on like this.

"Hi..." Ryan finally concocted the most eloquent of responses, stepping forward a little, just to get a better look at Gerard, perhaps, and Frank could do little more but  _let_  him, and fucking stay as close to Gerard as possible, because Ryan was seriously going to ask some fucked up questions if Gerard started to grow just that little bit more transparent the more Frank moved away from him - even Frank himself wasn't quite used to this yet.

"Hey." Gerard added, raising his eyebrows and smiling up at Ryan. " _Ryan_ , isn't it?" He continued, grinning like absolutely nothing was at all out of the ordinary and really it shouldn't be, but it was, and Ryan's head was fucking  _exploding_  with every single question on his lips.

"Y-yeah..." Ryan glanced at Frank, hoping he would perhaps just  _explain_ , but no, Frank was busy fighting the urge to punch Gerard in the face, despite the futile consequences, right then and right there, fucking in front of Ryan as well. "So... an  _explanation_? Frank, who's this dude and what's he doing in your bed?"

"His name is Gerard and I don't think you want me to detail what we did in bed, but-" Ryan's eyes widened in disbelief, because  _god_ , Frank Iero having  _sex_? It was outrageous: unheard of, even.

"So you have a boyfriend, or is this... like a one night stand or a prostitute, or... I'm not meaning to offend, but Gerard, you are seriously pretty enough to make it as a prostitute." And Ryan was stumbling over his words like motherfucking hell itself, and perhaps Frank would have laughed if his heart wasn't thudding isn't his chest with an overwhelming velocity.

"Thanks." Gerard grinned up at Ryan, brushing his hair from his face as he continued to talk. "But I'm his boyfriend, actually, surprisingly enough, like... you know how Frank is about these things, but that's  _Frank_ , and we've got to accept that."

"Yeah..." Ryan nodded, his eyes widening as he began to realise that perhaps this wasn't quite so much of a sudden madness but some kind of secret that Frank had been keeping for a while now. "So exactly how long have you known Frank?"

"Years, actually." Gerard admitted, and Ryan continued to gasp, "but the whole...  _dating_  thing was somewhat recent-"

"Yeah, tell him my whole life story why the fuck don't you?" Frank snapped, glaring at Gerard, and  _hating_  how he couldn't storm off for impact, because then Ryan would totally see how ghostly and not real Gerard really was.

"I'm not, Frankie, I'm just answering his questions, because someone has to, don't they? And you're not exactly in the best of moods right now, are you-"

"I want Starbucks, I  _told_  you-"

And Ryan chimed in with a, "haven't you ever heard of not bailing on Brendon for once, because seriously, Frank, I'm sorry, okay, it makes sense now, you're dating some guy in secret for some godforsaken reason, but me and Bren are your best friends and you're being an ass, and you said you'd meet Brendon at Starbucks today, and I came here to... to... find out what the fuck was going on, because we're worried about you, we really are," Ryan paused, glancing in Gerard's direction, "sorry, I... I don't shout this much, usually."

"It's fine-"

"Tell Brendon I might actually need some time away from the man who's so far up his own ass you can't make eye contact with him, for once, because Brendon's hard to be around; he's annoying, he asks too many questions, and I need some time to think: I have my own problems, you know?"

"Friends usually share their problems, you know?" Ryan narrowed his eyes at Frank.

"I'm sorry... I... it's... I can't  _explain_ -"

Ryan shook his head, "of course you can't, look, will you just fucking explain to Brendon that you have a boyfriend and that's what's taking your time up and just get a fucking  _drink_  at Starbucks and sort this shit out-"

"He keeps trying to set me up with assholes-"

"Then  _why_ , for fuck's sake, Frank,  _why_  did you not just tell him you have a boyfriend, hell, you didn't even have to specify as to who the hell this dude is, but just that you do have one, instead of just making everyone hate you, because that's what you do when you cut yourself off from us, and maybe you don't mean it, maybe you can't  _help_ it, but that's what  _happens_ , Frank, and I'm fucking sorry, but just go the  _fuck_  to Starbucks, will you?"

"Gerard's here... how about another day? How about tomorrow-"

" _Frank-"_

"I could come if that's not a problem." And dear god, Frank knew that that was absolutely the most problematic thing Gerard had ever said, and was perhaps even the most problematic thing that Frank had ever fucking  _heard_.

"That'd be nice, actually, and then, Brendon could meet you, and it'd certainly help dig Frank out of this hole he's burying himself in-"

" _No_..." Frank shook his head firmly, "that's fucking  _not_  happening... I don't... I don't fucking...  _no_."

"Why not?" Ryan widened his eyes.

"Look... I... can you not just give me a minute or two to talk this over with Gerard in private, because, I-"

"I'll give you an hour, but then I'm coming back and I'm taking you, regardless of whether Gerard is here or coming or not or whatever, and we'll go to Starbucks and keep Brendon fucking satisfied, and there you can have that fucking coffee, huh?" Ryan shook his head, making his way towards the door, "I'll lock the door behind me, don't worry."

And silence as the two waited motionless for the click of the lock of the front door, and then before Frank could even manage to prioritise what he wanted to scream at Gerard about, the taller man had him pinned down against the mattress, with his lips on his, and Frank couldn't fucking  _breathe_ , but  _god_ , he wasn't sure he even wanted to.

And as a few minutes passed, and Gerard began to drag his lips down to Frank's neck, the shorter man perhaps reckoned he had enough air in his lungs to consider forming a somewhat coherent sentence or even just an exclamation of some sorts. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Shutting you up before you could start another stupid fucking argument that would do nothing but make things complicated again." Gerard added before connecting his lips back to Frank's neck.

"What... so we  _can't_  talk this out and I can't ask you just why the ever-loving fuck you thought that was a good idea? And hey, I didn't even fucking know other people could see you if you wanted to or whatever-"

Gerard let out a sigh, hovering above Frank a little, before placing his hand just a little too tightly around Frank's cock.

" _What are you-_ "

"I know you can't yell at me or hate me when you want to fuck, Frank, and therefore this is the only way we can have some sort of civil conversation when you're riled up." Gerard grinned, "it's quite logical really, also I really love touching your cock, you know?"

Frank groaned, turning away from Gerard, to which Gerard responded by squeezing his grip, and  _god_ , Frank was not expecting that.

"Look at me." Gerard added, and needless to say, Frank obliged. "I got you out of a mess here, I didn't I? Ryan suspects something, a big kind of something, and I've written it off for you as just a boyfriend and he bought it, and then we don't have to touch on the time you spent in hospital that he doesn't know about, or the past he couldn't even imagine, because you know when I said you were turning into me, you've certainly got the secret fucked up past down perfectly."

"Ryan and Brendon don't  _need_  to know-"

"And neither did you when it came to me: you just wanted to, and I struggle saying no to someone as pretty as you." Gerard let out a sigh, "now come on, if we keep touching like just hold hands then I'm going to look real enough, and we've just got to make sure Ryan and Brendon don't touch me, and if you're cuddling up to me then I doubt they'll want to, so we just sit in a Starbucks booth and act all coupley and keep them occupied and it'll be  _fine_."

"You're far too optimistic about this."

"You're far too pessimistic." Gerard countered, giving Frank another squeeze. "Hey, how about you go through with this and don't fuck your life up and I'll jack you off-"

"That's pathetic... I want a fuck, at least." Frank groaned, leaning back against the pillows, "but if you're ready for that, then yeah, we can fuck everything up by trying this stupid-ass plan of yours."

"We really don't have time for fucking now, though? Like we need to get dressed, and you need a shower, Frankie-"

"Are you saying I  _smell_?" Frank exclaimed, his eyes widening in mortal horror.

"No, I'm talking about that boner of yours - go have a shower, get dressed, we go to Starbucks, and we'll fuck afterwards, and you can tell me how much of a shitty  _boyfriend_  I am, because that's what we are now, for certain now,  _boyfriends_."

"You decided?" Frank raised his eyebrows at that one.

"Yeah, because you're terrible at making decisions, and I'm supposed to be older than you, I mean, I  _was_  born ten years before you, and I reckon you should listen to me if you want that fuck later, you know, just saying?" Gerard grinned, rolling over as Frank stumbled out of bed, glancing down at his cock and shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm totally jacking off in the shower." Frank added.

"I know." Gerard smiled, "be nice and loud, will you, just so I can be sure to hear you over the water." And that fucking wink and smirk, and god, Frank knew that Gerard was absolutely the worst influence on him in the world, but fucking hell, he wanted this grave Gerard was digging for him, if it meant he got to hold his hand.

Because come on, just  _how_  bad could this whole Starbucks thing possibly be? It wasn't like Brendon would at all suspect that Gerard wasn't really quite as real as he thought or anything, would he? And it wasn't as if there'd be any reason at all for Frank to let go of Gerard's hand, would there?

And Frank stepped into the shower all too fucking naive, and all too fucking optimistic, and it was  _all_  Gerard's fault, but Frank reckoned he could do little but embrace that at this point.

Because it was summer ten years ago all over again, and Frank reckoned that with Gerard, it would  _always_  be like this: a fucked up mess of heart driven emotions and the kind ending that no one deserved, because if you didn't look before you jumped, you could hardly expect to land on your feet, could you?

-

This was the worst idea in the whole damn world, and of course, simultaneously, the best, and Frank fucking knew that, and he fucking hated how he couldn't just slap Gerard across the face every five seconds, because damn, that was  _absolutely_  what he felt like doing, but what he  _had_ to do was, of course, hold tightly to Gerard's hand, to keep him believable, and to keep him 'real', and there wasn't a chance in hell that this was going to work, but there also wasn't a chance in hell that Gerard was going to let Frank just  _not_ do this.

And Frank could tell that without even uttering a single word, because Gerard was fucking grinning to himself as the two made their way down the street, Frank holding perhaps even  _too_  tightly to Gerard's hand, like this boyfriend of his, was a balloon he feared for just floating off into nothing, because well, with Gerard like this, the aforementioned didn't perhaps seem quite so absurd.

Frank glanced once again at the red haired man, and let out a sigh, because  _fuck_ , it may have fooled Ryan for a few minutes, but Brendon was always very insistent that they spent a significant amount at Starbucks, like seriously, Frank was beginning to suspect that Brendon was actually homeless and simply  _lived_  in Starbucks, because he worked there and hung out there, so it was either that or that he  _really_  appreciated the staff discount, which of course made sense, but Starbucks was still fucking overpriced as shit.

"Do you think Brendon will like me?" Gerard said out of nowhere; his head evidently elsewhere, and that really wasn't what Frank needed now - he needed him  _here_ , every fucking part of him, and perhaps not just physically here, because Brendon was pissed, Frank knew that, and he needed someone on his side, or something.

"Depends what kind of mood he's in." Frank answered honestly, "I don't think he's in the best of moods, though, if I'm honest, so good luck, Gerard, however, you have some sort of persuasive gift, like seriously, I don't hate you, and you fucking killed yourself and fucked up my life, so that's seriously something, Gerard."

"I'm not sure whether I should say thank you to that or not." He added, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"How about you just shut the fuck up for once in your life, because goddamn, Gerard, you so didn't need to say anything to Ryan at all-"

"Frank, I fucking helped you out and you  _know_  it, so shut up, okay? You're just nervous, and I can't blame you, but it's gonna be fine, I promise you." And there was an odd sincerity in Gerard's voice that Frank felt awkward with.

"You can't promise me that if it hasn't happened yet." He rolled his eyes, slowly their pace as the Starbucks came into sight, because Frank  _totally_  wasn't stalling here at all, nope, no, absolutely not.

"I can, guess what, Frankie? I can predict the future too-"

" _Gerard_! What the fuck? I? I-"

"I'm just messing with you, Frankie, that's not true- or is it? How could you possibly know-"

"Gerard, I will not fucking hesitate to punch you the fuck in the face if you don't shut the  _fuck_  up." Frank shook his head in disbelief, and continued to groan internally as they reached the Starbucks door.

"Getting bossy now, are we, Frankie?" And it was like Gerard was trying to get himself punched here, and maybe it was just because he knew that Frank couldn't and  _wouldn't_ risk anything at this point, and therefore Gerard would be safe with Frank just being more than just a little agitated.

"Shut the fuck up, and come inside, and fucking  _behave_  alright, it's like you're my kid and not my boyfriend, you know?" Frank shook his head in disbelief, reaching out for the door handle, only to have both his actions and his blood circulation cut off as Gerard uttered one final 'witty' comment.

"Well, Frank, I'm certain you could have found a much more practical way to tell me that you want to be my  _daddy-_ "

" _Gerard_! Don't you fucking dare, or there will be no fucking, no kissing, no  _nothing_ , you got that?" Frank glared, leaving Gerard to continue to grin and nod at him as they made their way inside, and Frank felt like he'd been shot through the skull as he met Brendon's gaze, well, Brendon's  _glare_ , and perhaps Ryan hadn't quite gone into the  _extent_  of Brendon's 'mood'.

"He does not look happy to see us." Gerard added, grinning a little, but Frank was in no fucking mood, tightening his grip on Gerard's hand, perhaps even enough to make it hurt, as they made their way over to the table that Brendon and Ryan were sat at.

"Hey..." Frank exhaled loudly, as he met  _Ryan's_  gaze, doing all he could to avoid Brendon's, and for rather obvious reasons. "So... yeah... this is Gerard, and I..."

"Why didn't you just tell us about your goddamn  _boyfriend_ , Frank?" Brendon exclaimed, glaring between the two of them, and even going as far as to shake his head a little. "That would have made everything  _simple_ , you know that? But no, you're Frank, and you have to make a fuss out of every fucking thing because you just live for the attention."

"Bren, leave it." Ryan gave his boyfriend a  _look_ , before meeting Gerard’s gaze and forcing his best attempt at a 'welcoming' smile on him. "I'm sorry, Brendon's, well, Brendon, look, come on, you don't want to give Gerard the wrong impression, do you? Gerard's really nice, you know."

"I'm so sorry you're dating such an asshole." Brendon said, with the utmost sincerity, as the two sat down, Gerard doing all he could not to burst into a fit of laughter as he did so.

"Thank you for your sympathy." He added as they sat down, leave Frank to glare and shake his head like it was the only thing he  _could_  do. Brendon chuckled a little in response, and just a little at Frank's expression. "He's alright really, he's just a bit moody, you know, but he's pretty great from time to time, gotta admit. I mean, I wouldn't date him if he wasn't, but, you know what I mean-"

"Shut the fuck up." Frank interrupted him with a shake of his head, "stop being such an asshole for once, come on."

"He's the asshole?" Brendon chuckled, widening his eyes a little.

" _Yeah_..." Frank trailed off, turning away, "he is."

Gerard sighed out, and avoided Brendon's gaze, and in consequence, winding up with Ryan's, but there was a certain sympathetic understanding there that Brendon couldn't help but appreciate.

"So, Gerard, what do you do? What kind of person are you, we didn't get much of an opportunity to chat earlier did we? And well, Brendon doesn't know you at all." Frank smiled a little, because trust Ryan to fit everything back together, and he let him, and he let them have their own little conversation, because he needed his eyes on the world outside, and his hand in Gerard's: a reminder of who he was and what this all was.

And suddenly, outside, something that meant the entire world, and still very little whatsoever: one single snowflake from the skies, the  _first_  snowflake, and suddenly, so many more. It was beautiful, but Frank turned back to the table, and snuck a glance at Gerard, and knew instantly that the world outside didn't for a moment compare to the boy beside him and everything they had between them.

"Oh, yeah, I don't have a job right now, but, I like punk rock, and art, and Frank, importantly, Frank, and coffee, I really like coffee actually, and god, I'm so bad at describing myself, but I...  _Frankie?_ " Frank jumped as Gerard turned to him, "you okay? I'm sorry, okay, it was a joke, I love you really."

"I know." Frank smiled, shuffling a little closer to his boyfriend, "of course I know that, I'm just tired, that's all."

"He lets you call him 'Frankie'?" Brendon exclaimed, his eyes widening a little as he looked between Gerard and Frank. "Jesus Christ, you have some sort of witchcraft powers, you do, I think I called him Frankie and he punched me in the face once."

"You were being an asshole, you know?" Frank added, but Brendon wasn't fussed.

"He told me someone he knew a long time ago used to call him that, and they were special to him, and then he lost them, so he doesn't want anyone else to call him that, but  _dude_ , you must be really damn amazing then." Brendon exclaimed, and  _oh_ , if only he knew what Frank and Gerard both did in that moment - that the person from 'a long time ago' was the very man before him.

"I feel honoured, quite honestly, I don't deserve him, if I'm honest, he's just so, you know,  _perfect_?"

"You know when I think about Frank Iero, asshole and idiot are more of words that come to mind." Brendon added, laughing a little.

"Yeah, those too, but... I mean, I  _am_  a gay man, I do  _love_  assholes." And in that very moment, Brendon was absolutely sold on Gerard and would have probably given him the keys to his house and his credit card number if he'd asked.

"I love them too." Ryan added, gesturing in Brendon's direction, and causing the shorter man to glare the fuck out of him. "Oh fuck off, Brendon, you're such an ass, and you  _know_  it, so shut the  _fuck_  up."

"So how did you two meet? God, this is so weird, I didn't know Frank was at all capable of love, I thought it was all 'I'm an asshole I hate the whole fucking world, and especially you'," Brendon continued, grinning as he did so, "you must be really good in bed or something, you know-"

" _Brendon_ -" Frank exclaimed, perhaps just a little out of breath, because oh dear lord, Brendon Urie needed to be executed, and he needed to be executed  _immediately._

"So what  _is_  it, Frank? Because sure, he's pretty, but no, you'll say 'no' everyone in the whole damn world, because you're so up your own ass I genuinely doubt that there's much room for anyone's cock."

"He's special, you know, I kind of feel it, like  _something_ , like this is important, you know? I just care a lot about him, and he's gorgeous, and all kinds of stupidly hilarious, and I hate him  _so_ much you don't even know, but still, I can't stop thinking about him and I just care so much - it's a mess, a fucking  _mess_ , and god, he's also very good in bed, by the way, but he makes me coffee, you know, and that's very important? And it's weird, because he's just so  _nice_ , especially recently, like it makes me a bit uncomfortable sometimes because I really don't deserve someone being this nice to me, but-"

"Shut the fuck up, you really do."

"Dudes, dudes, no making out here, okay!" Brendon exclaimed, perhaps just a little concerned for his mental stability there.

"So do you still hate me, Brendon?" Frank added, raising his eyebrows a little.

"Only a bit, because you're an asshole, but, you're happy and I'm respecting that, and I'm a bit jealous that Gerard's taking up all of your time, honestly, I miss us hanging out, but like, you're cute together, and Gerard's cool so-"

" _Cool_?" Frank retorted, laughing as he did so, "I really don't think so."

"I'm so fucking cool, like seriously,  _fight me_ , Frankie, come on-"

"Gerard's cooler than you, all I'm saying." Ryan added, grinning as he did so, because seeing Frank happy like this was a change, but one hell of a welcome one too, and that meant something:  _so_ much even.

And Ryan even felt like he knew so much about Gerard from just today, but really, from the hands held tight under the table, to the pills in the forest back in Jersey, Ryan knew nothing at all.

-


	13. In Which Gerard Promises Frank Endless Sexual Favours

Late nights and troubled minds would always be better shared with Gerard, even it was exactly him who'd put Frank into the position of agonising insomnia, because Frank knew his own insecurities will enough to know that he'd most certainly have it no other way.

There was something about him that just put Frank's whole head at ease, and perhaps it was just a case of familiarity and comfort, or perhaps there really was something there when they met one another's gaze and the whole universe seemed to fit together a little better.

Or perhaps Frank was just good at lying to himself, or perhaps Gerard was simply exercising his already well-practised talent of lying to the whole damn world, but somehow, for some godforsaken reason, Frank had the idiocy to convince himself that things would be different this time, and maybe, for the first time in his life, well... death, now, technically, Gerard Way could tell someone he loved them and truly mean it.

It was a phenomenon unbeknownst and unfamiliar to Frank, though, and it plagued both his mind and heart, as the night dragged on without him, because he should really know by now that the world didn't just stop for anyone, but still, he seemed to go on like it did, and like he could just waste away hours in silence, staring at Gerard, and keeping everything up inside his head, like that would ever do any good.

Frank was both a waste of time and a waste of space, and he reckoned that a perfectly concocted combination of the two was quite the achievement, so he had that to his name, at the very least; that, and this  _boyfriend_  of his, and perhaps most importantly, the only thing that had come from the events of the past few days, and the meetings with Brendon and Ryan was of course that Gerard was indeed  _real_ , and now there was no denying that.

Because Frank just didn’t know whether it could possibly be for the worse or the better, because, realistically, his head was still trapped inside the hospital, and the ward, and the room of his therapist's office, and the words that seemed to bounce of the wall, bearing little meaning to Frank at all, and the pills he took everyday, as if to lull himself into nothingness: back then, Gerard had insisted he stopped taking the pills, and eventually Frank did, and eventually Frank found himself ready to kill himself too, and now, just a few hours ago, when Frank had taken them for the day, Gerard had also suggested to him that he didn't need them, and Frank had of course fucking  _considered_  it, as if he lived in utter oblivion to the mess that had come of it last time around.

But Frank's one true vice was the one beside him: silent with his hand in Frank's, and his gaze fixated elsewhere, most likely deep in thought, and Frank both yearned and dreaded to know just what went on inside Gerard Way's mind, or whatever there was left of it now.

There always was, and always would be just something  _off_  about Gerard, and Frank reckoned he'd just have to grow to live with that, because the possibility of him simply living  _without_  Gerard, just didn't seem to sit right in his mind.

And perhaps conversation, and questions, and  _answers_ , were the answer, but perhaps Frank found himself turning back to the man beside him, and feeling his whole body shake, because he was  _scared_ , so fucking  _scared_ , too fucking  _scared_ , and forever like that, because he shouldn't be, but he was, because Gerard was too bold, and too careless, and too beautiful, and too fucking  _dead_ , like seriously, Frank was dating a ghost, but that seemed pretty irrelevant in the scheme of things and the moment and the thudding of Frank's heartbeat.

"What's wrong?" Gerard eventually asked, perhaps even speaking  _for_  Frank, which made the 'older' man just a little uneasy, but in truth, just as, or if not more, grateful, "I know something's wrong, Frank, I can feel it... it's a  _thing_ , you know?"

"A dead thing?" Frank let out a sigh, raising his eyebrows a little.

Gerard stifled a laugh, "yeah, something like that, a  _ghost_  thing? I don't know... but, that's irrelevant, tell me what's wrong, will you?" Frank remained silent. "It's getting really late, as well; we should get to bed, I want to go to bed, but I don't want to leave you here- in fact, I  _can't_  leave you here... I forget that sometimes... I really do."

"Me too." Frank admitted, exhaling loudly, "about the forgetting thing, and the going to bed thing. I'm just thinking, I'm okay, I guess, it's... I don't know, I'm thinking about things I shouldn't, you know, bad things? Things from when I was in hospital."

Gerard nodded, moving closer to Frank, "try not to, but if you can't, please tell me what's bothering you? I want to try and make things better; I don't like the idea of you being upset, you know?"

"Mmm..." Frank let out a sigh, "I know. It's... if I'm honest, it's the whole pills thing, from earlier, and you said I didn't need them, and that's really fucking with my head, because it feels like they're the only thing that's keeping me stable, and I-... I don't know anymore, Gerard, I mean, I really don't know anymore, because all I can think about is the hospital and the pills in there: they were stronger, but you told me not to take them too."

"You don't need pills, Frankie, you never have," Gerard met his boyfriend's eyes, and the sincerity in the younger man's made everything just all the more troublesome, "just because they're paid to do this, doesn't mean they're right about everything."

"And you are?" Frank scoffed, leaving Gerard looking more than just a little unimpressed.

"Well, I do know you better than anyone, Frank, I know you better than you know yourself, for sure, and look, come on, you were in there because you kept seeing me, and the doctors could only diagnose you as schizophrenic because they didn't know what we know, so that would make sense in their heads, but you don't need those pills, because they're for a condition, you don't have. Of course, you don't  _have_  to stop taking them, but I'm just saying you don't  _have_  to take them either."

Frank got up, shaking his head, "stop fucking with my head, Gerard, let's just go to bed, I'm tired, aren't you?"

"I'm dead, Frankie, I don't get tired."

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder." Frank rolled his eyes, and stormed off down the hallway, leaving Gerard, barely visible, barely there, flickering in the lowlight.

-

And just like that, Frank was five years younger, and far too little had changed, because although Frank from five years prior was fucked up and dosed up and diagnosed with conditions that he may or may not have had.

Because in Frank's mind, five years ago, Gerard was still beside him, and his head still ached, but he was  _there_  and not at home, and the walls were perhaps a more cleanly shade of white, and perhaps everything was okay now, but perhaps there was little difference, and Frank just didn't know what to think when he opened his eyes to a hospital room, and words that meant very little whizzing around his head.

This all felt too vivid, too real, to be a dream, or at least to be an  _ordinary_  dream, because Frank felt even more alive than ever, and nothing scared him quite like that did.

Frank was a ship out a sea, and this was nothing short of the storm that would sink him, and he lay there in revelation of that fact: the red headed figure beside him in this room appearing far less real, but Frank didn't expect it to, especially with this room not being real at all, and it wasn't like Frank hadn't ever had nightmares about this place before - in fact, they were far more frequent than he'd prefer, but something about this felt  _different_.

And that feeling unnerved Frank to the core, as he finally gathered the strength to move, to make his way to his feet, to make his way to the bedroom floor, to gaze at his surroundings, and to what means, he was clueless and he couldn't help but welcome the faked innocence naivety brought him.

Frank wanted to be sixteen again, he wanted to turn right away from all of this mess; he wanted to save his life while he still had a chance, but it was too late now - too late to do anything at all, and Frank stood his ground as the figure turned in the bed that felt nothing like his own.

He exhaled loudly as he came to face the man he felt he knew, but in this version of 'reality' it seemed as if the two had very little in common at all, the man before him clearly sleep deprived and angry with circles under his eyes, and skin so pale it seemed to fade in with the whites of the wall.

"Go back to sleep, Frank." The figure instructed, his voice raspy and foreign, nothing like the man Frank knew, and that simply lay in the nature of the  _dream_ , the illusion, but Frank reckoned there'd come a point where he struggled to tell himself so.

"I am asleep." Frank protested, stumbling over his words a little as he did so, "this is just a dream, so you're interrupting me from sleeping, if anything."

The figure raised a white bony finger, perhaps even skeletal in nature, gesturing to the bed, before continuing, "go to bed, Frank."

"Why?"

"Because I'm telling you to, and you do everything I tell you because I  _am_  in charge here." The figure repeated, stepping towards Frank as he continued to point towards the bed.

"You're not in  _charge_ , Gerard." Frank snapped with a sudden burst of vigour that neither of them had been particularly expecting.

"I'd prefer it if we weren't on a first name basis, Frank." The figure's voice shifted a little at that point, becoming clearer and more human, but still blatantly unfamiliar, with a sense of privilege and authority behind the tone.

"Go fuck yourself."

And before Frank knew what was happening, he was opening his eyes in New Jersey, his bedroom throughout his late teenage years; he reckoned it instantly, and it came along with the sinking feeling in his stomach, originating directly from the noise downstairs, because it had been  _years_ , but it could be centuries and Frank would still never forget.

And Frank found himself stumbling out of his bedroom door, his feet perhaps controlling themselves, or something equally as horrific, but a behaviour known far too well by the younger version of himself.

"You know what?" The voice sliced through him almost instantly, Frank's heart thudding in his chest as he rushed to the top of the staircase, his eyes widening as they laid sight upon the man making his way up towards him. "I'm fucking over with you!" The man, Frank's  _father_ , continued to scream, leaving Frank biting down onto his lip in fear, because this wasn't real, and Frank couldn't escape the constant reminders, but it wasn't fake  _enough_.

"Get out!" His words were slurred, like drunken, and the younger Frank wasn't surprised, in fact, the older one wasn't either, just not used to this, not anymore. He hadn't seen his father in years, and it was an odd kind of bliss, but even though this wasn't real, Frank's heart was still shattering inside his chest, as his lungs struggled to take in breath.

And then before Frank can even remember properly what just did occur, his father grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him an unsteady push towards the stairs, and Frank can't hurt in the state his head is in, and he knew that, but it was like he could imagine the pain - either that or this dream was quickly becoming far too real for his liking.

He stood there frozen for a moment, stumbling to his feet at the bottom of the stairs, heart pounding in his chest, and his head seeming to roll off his shoulders, as he found himself with little to do but glance back up at the man who was supposed to love him.

It was a mistake: of  _course_ , it was a mistake - Frank hadn't expected anything more, he just hadn't been  _thinking_ , in fact, Frank wasn't even sure if he was breathing-

"Out of my fucking house!"

"Breathe!"

And Frank stood paralysed by the two voices, before his vision faded before him, the world fading to black, his chest heaving, as he opened his eyes once more, this time, his surroundings familiar, but in a much more reliving manner; his bedroom, his house, and  _Gerard_ : his eyes widening with worry, as Frank coughed and spluttered for breath, not quite able to process what was happening before his boyfriend pulled him close to his chest.

" _Fuck_." Gerard let out a sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. "I was so fucking  _scared_ , Frankie... I... what happened?"

"I... I... I don't know." Frank only began to catch up with his surroundings, soon certain that this was reality, because Gerard felt so  _close_ , so real, perhaps as real as he could ever be, but in Frank's mind, real enough. "A dream, fuck, a really bad dream..."

"I'm sorry." Gerard let out a sigh, moving so the two were laying shoulder to shoulder. "Wanna tell me what it was about?"

"I'm not even sure myself, I was... I was... I was... back  _there_ , in the hospital, and there was a bed and you, but not quite you... you were like some sort of distorted, really pale,  _ghost_  figure-"

"I  _am_ a ghost." Gerard corrected, in perhaps not the most helpful manner.

"I know, but, like a typical horror movie kind of thing, and you were telling me to go to bed and to go to sleep, and I kept telling you that I was already dreaming, but you wouldn't listen, and I told you to go fuck yourself and then I was back at home, in Jersey, and I think I was seventeen again, my memories a bit hazy, I mean, I tried to forget this, but it seemed pretty real, but my dad was screaming at me, and he pushed me down the stairs and he told me to get out of his house, and then I.. then I heard you telling me to breathe, and I think then I woke up."

"I'm so fucking  _sorry_." Gerard let out a sigh, putting an arm around Frank as he did so. "I think I remember you telling me about that, actually. You left the house afterwards, and then I found you, and you still hated me at that point but-"

"And I reckon you're still not going to explain what the hell was going through your head when we first met, so I'm not even going to bother asking." Frank forced his lips into a smile, doing his best to act like he didn't mind at all, but he minded, and he would _always_  mind,  _so_  much.

"I'm a narcissist, Frank, I-"

"Yeah, like I couldn't figure that one out." Frank rolled his eyes, the words leaving his lips before he was even really aware of what was happening.

"I would argue with you, but you're upset and I don't want to upset you and I'm sorry for how I was ten years ago... I wish we could just forget that, because that was me ten years ago: that was a different me and a different you. Let's just forget about it?"

"I can't forget about you  _killing_  yourself, Gee, I... everything is a constant reminder of that, I don't fucking think I could ever forget." Frank exclaimed, his breathing heavy, and close to tears.

"I'm not asking you to, I just-... you called me Gee, again. You don't do that often, you know,  _Frankie_?" Gerard's lips turned up into a smile, because perhaps Frank really did just matter that much to him, and perhaps there was no chance of that changing anytime soon.

"I honestly don't think about it that much...  _Gee_... okay, I did then, but...  _Gee_ , I just... god, your name sounds weird now, but... fuck, what time is it? I need more sleep." Frank groaned, and leaving Gerard to glance across at the alarm clock.

"It's four twenty." Gerard chuckled a little, "blaze it, Frankie."

"I don't care, I'm going to sleep." Frank rolled into Gerard's chest, laying his head back down and closing his eyes. "Night, night, Gee..."

"Night, Frankie." Gerard smile, holding Frank just a little closer as he did so.

"Gee?" Frank added, his voice barely audible, but loud enough for Gerard to hear.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you, I'm sorry, I just yell at you all the time, but things are hard for you too, aren't they? And I never say thank you, but you're there for me all the time..." Frank let out a sigh, before continuing, "maybe without you, I never would have woken up, I never would have started breathing again. Thank you."

"Maybe I'm here for a reason then, to protect you." Gerard grinned, pressing a kiss to Frank's forehead. "I'm always going to protect you, Frankie, I promise, look, you're safe, and your dreams aren't real, and it's all going to be okay."

"Is it really, though?" Frank asked, opening his eyes this time.

"Yeah, I  _promise_." Gerard added, smiling as he did so.

"Alright then, I'm holding you to that, and when the whole world goes to shit soon you owe me one, Gerard, I fucking promise." Frank grinned, closing his eyes again.

"What do I owe you?" Gerard brushed Frank's hair behind his ears as he spoke.

"I don't know..." Frank's response was muffled and sleepy, and all kinds of  _cute_.

"Maybe a blowjob or something, but I'd give you a blowjob any day, so-"

"Gee, if something goes wrong tomorrow, will you give me a rimjob?" Frank muffled, again in the aforementioned sleepy tone.

"Didn't know you were one for having your ass eaten, but yeah, anything you want, and I mean it - I'd give you multiple rimjobs if you want, I'd eat your ass for  _hours_ -"

"Shut up, I don't want a boner now: I'm trying to  _sleep_." Frank groaned, burying his head in Gerard's chest as he let the world fade out around him, but this time with the knowledge, with a  _promise_ , that everything would be okay.

-


	14. The Massive Slut Button In Gerard's Head

Frank hated work, and it was mainly because he hated knowing that Gerard would always be there with him, but he couldn't see him, or talk to him, but of course, if Gerard did indeed make himself visible, then Frank would most definitely find himself with an awful distraction and a very awkward situation in his pants.

It was just the contrast that really meant something though, because before all of this mess, Frank had taken pleasure in normality and the nine to five and the nothingness and how his life was very devoid of meaning, because that was what he'd needed.

But now, Frank couldn't hate the idea of that more, because he was deadset and certain in the belief that all he needed was the man beside him; the man he couldn't see right now, but the man that was most definitely there, and as Frank typed away at his computer, he couldn't help but smile to himself, keeping what he only knew as a secret close to his chest.

And, yes, of course, it was inevitable that Frank felt an awful lot like a mad man, and even went as far as to question himself sometimes, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to just get back to 'normal', whatever normal meant anymore, because Frank felt that not only did Gerard need him to feel real, but that the feeling was mutual.

And perhaps for Frank, it was just a little bit more metaphorical, but it remained just as real in his chest, and that was all that mattered, as his heart fluttered in his ribcage, screaming louder than his head could even imagine.

And Frank was even something like trapped away in his own little Gerard filled world at his desk, sleep deprivation making it easy to zone out every few seconds, and fall into a whole new plane of existence, that had nothing to do with the boring office job, and the meaningless words he was typing out onto his keyboard, well, the  _company's_  keyboard, in the company's building, because Frank didn't want to be homeless, and that was that.

However, the aforementioned bubble was soon broken, as the door slammed open, and Frank caught sight of a man, about his age, with short, blonde hair, and the kind of body that looked alien in a suit; this was his first kind of office thing, that was for sure, and Frank could read the fact that he was new off his fucking face.

However, he didn't appear as nervous as people tended to be, perhaps more  _bored_ , tired of this already, even though he'd barely even made it through the door, which both unnerved and intrigued Frank, and most definitely caught the attention of Gerard too, as the redhead had been leaning against Frank's cubicle and minding his own business, and staring at Frank's ass from time to time, because okay, who could blame him?

In fact, the whole room seemed to be captivated by the new guy, everyone getting to their feet to peer over the cubicles and watch as he finally made his way into the cubicle beside Frank's, which was already something Gerard wasn't particularly pleased about, because Gerard was a jealous bitch at best.

"Hey..." The guy finally addressed the room, gesturing awkwardly as he glanced around at the room, "I'm new... I'm Sam."

And as the room erupted into a chorus of greetings and conversation, Frank took the liberty of sitting the fuck back down again, because okay, new guy, interesting, but something they really had seen a thousand times before, as was everything in this cubicle, in this building, in this life, and in fact, Frank even began to feel a little sorry for Gerard who was just forced into watching time, and in turn, Frank's life tick by.

Frank had gotten over the weirdness factor of it, because it wasn't like the guy didn't seem him naked enough already, and was now more sympathetic than anything, because Frank he really wouldn't want to have been forced into observing every dull action of a guy who you dated ten years ago.

Or maybe that's just what you get for killing yourself, it seemed.

And Frank shook his head at the notion, turning back to his screen, ready to immerse himself back into the lovely and exciting, and of course, fun filled, world of Microsoft Excel - Frank's favourite computer program, of course, after MS Paint, because Frank reckoned he did actually spend all of his lunch break drawing shit, vaguely insulting, 'art' depicting the co-workers that he hadn't gotten on quite so well with.

However, he soon heard the sound of a swivel chair from the cubicle beside his, and eventually, a, "hey."

And Frank considered shooting himself in the face right there and then because this was the new guy, and he was going to be inexperienced, and this was going to be him asking for help, because he hadn't a fucking clue what he was doing, and Frank knew that, but still, he wasn't the least bit prepared for it.

"Yeah?" He let out a sigh, turning to face him, raising his eyebrows a little, as he did so.

"Yeah, uhh... I kind of don't know how to use excel-"

"How did you get this job then?" Frank hit him with it straight, because fuck it, and fuck being nice, and fuck it if he got in trouble for this, because Frank didn't genuinely give a shit anymore, and it really did seem like Gerard was having the time of his life, giggling to himself in the corner, because  _yes_ , now he'd decided to make himself visible.

Frank really hoped Gerard hadn't made himself visible to this guy as well, otherwise he reckoned his next question would be, 'are you aware there's a homeless guy with stupid hair sat in the corner of your cubicle?'

To which, Frank's response would of course be, 'yeah, so what, deal with it,' which wouldn't exactly have made the best impression, but neither did blatantly being snappy with him, but,  _fuck it_.

"Well, let's say I'm better at lying than I am using excel." His face turned up into a grin.

"Right." Frank turned his face into a grimace, ready to just get the fuck back on with this, and continue to waste his life away, however, things were never going to be just that easy, were they?

"Hey, how about you teach me how to use excel, and I'll buy you a drink or something-"

And he didn't get that question out, before the filing cabinet in his cubicle miraculously fell over, going straight into his chair, and causing him to fall to the floor.

And, of course, a, "fuck you," and a giggle from a certain boyfriend that Frank wanted to kill on a more than casual basis.

-

"He said  _I_ pushed him!" Frank exclaimed, throwing his keys down against the kitchen counter with over exerted force.

"Well, that's not  _my_  fault -  _I_  didn't do anything, well, I didn't  _say_  anything, but-"

"Gerard, you fucking-" Frank shook his head in disbelief, pulling his shoes off as he did so, "why the  _fuck_  did you do that? Did you seriously think I was going to agree to go have a drink with him? Are you fucking stupid, Gerard, I knew you were there as well, for fuck's sake... I...  _why_ , seriously, just  _why_?"

"And so what? I was supposed to just let him hit on you, because that was  _not_  going to happen- Frank, you're...  _my_  boyfriend, and I  _have_  to protect you... look, he's one of those assholes who don't give up once you say no, I could tell that, so I was  _helping_  you, everything I do is to help you, I mean that, Frankie, I really do-"

"I don't give a fuck what your intentions were, especially when it's  _me_ , not you that has to deal with the consequences- I could get  _fired_ , Gerard, we just have to see what kind of mood my boss is in when he calls me back, and I doubt it's going to be good-"

"So what?" Gerard shrugged, brushing his hair behind his ears. "You can get another job-"

"That's fucking harder than you think, Gerard, okay? You've fucked everything up now? The normal, the schedule, the regularity, the safety net, everything- you fucking-  _you_. I hate that - that's always you, you don't do normal and you don't do regular and you drag everyone down with you. And I don't even think you know."

"I'm  _sorry_ , Frank, look, I was just trying to- I just wanted to keep him away from you, that's it, you know?" Gerard's voice took a calmer tone as he made his way to the sofa, sitting down and fading away a little as he did so, and no matter how worked up and angry Frank was, he couldn't bare that.

"Okay, look, Gerard, I knew, this isn't what you wanted to happen that's okay... I just... what the fuck do I do if I get fired, Gee?" Frank let out a sigh, leaning into Gerard’s side as he did so.

"I’m sorry." Gerard muttered, putting an arm around Frank as he did so. "How do you think I could make it up to you?"

"Do you think you could maybe say that without looking at my dick quite so obviously?" Frank asked, his eyebrows raised a little.

"Well... I  _could_ , but I doubt you really want me to, you know..." Gerard's face turned up into a grin, "I really reckon I can guess just  _what_  you want, Frankie... you  _know_?"

"And what would that be?" Frank asked, just testing Gerard now, because now wasn't really the best time to have Gerard's mouth around his cock, but the other half of Frank's head was wondering if there  _ever_  was a bad time to have Gerard's mouth around his cock.

"Oh, Frankie, I think you could figure that one out for yourself. You're a big boy now, older than me and all." Gerard leaned in, the 'massive slut' button in his head switching on. "I wanna suck your cock, Frankie, don't you want me to?" He reached for Frank's crotch, gasping a little as Frank couldn't help but lean into his touch.

"Fucking hell... I..." Frank leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief, "with all my fucking luck, my boss is going to call me back right when your mouth is wrapped around my cock-"

"And what would you do then?" Gerard’s face lit up, getting up off the sofa, eager at Frank's mention of the notion of cocksucking, and kneeling at Frank's feet, his hands on the older man's thighs: all pretty eyes and the world's worst smirk.

"I... I... I'd have to answer it, god, Gerard, you're good at cocksucking, anyone can tell that, but, my job is kind of more important than either of us getting off-"

"Then if you pick up the call, I won't move, I'll pin you down, and keep going, and you've just got to act like a good boy, be all quiet and discreet. You reckon you could do that or am I just  _too_  good?"

"Gerard, you're just an  _asshole_." Frank rolled his eyes, shrugging it off like it was the only thing he could think to do, and it kind of was. "I'm not doing that, and I'm not letting you..." Gerard pouted, seeming to be genuinely disheartened by this. "Maybe as a celebration if I don't get fired, but... I don't know... Gerard, seriously, you're all trouble and bad ideas, and I'm just trying not to fuck up my life anymore. I feel like I'm following you around, just picking up the pieces."

"I feel like I'm doing the very same for you..." Frank appeared skeptical, "oh  _come on_ , Frank, that guy was bad news, an asshole in every way and you want me to just let him flirt with you? That's ridiculous, that's absolutely fucking ridiculous, like okay, I can be jealous, but that's because I really care about you, but this isn't a matter of jealousy, it's a matter of me looking after you, like-"

"I'm older now, technically, I can look after myself, you know? I don't  _need_  you." And they both knew it was anything but true, but the impact was just as brutal nonetheless.

"You fucking do, and you  _know_  it." Gerard snapped, getting up, and pushing Frank back into the sofa. "You fucked up, everything went to shit for you without me because you 'couldn't cope', so don't try to fucking  _lie_  to me, Frank."

"Oh, like you've never fucking lied to  _me_ , because you're so fucking perfect, aren't you, Gerard? Go on, whine about how perfect and troubled you are, because when you were alive that's all you ever fucking did, you know?" Frank raised his voice, growing increasingly impatient and pissed off, but it wasn't as if he could be blamed.

"How was life for you in hospital, Frankie? Coping fine without me then, weren’t you? Didn't need me at all,  _did you?_ Or what? Because that has to be the truth, because you'd never lie to me at all, as you said, would you?" Gerard shook his head, sitting beside Frank, but refusing to meet his gaze. "You know what? We've known each other more than ten years, but more often that not I feel like I don't know you at all, like you're a stranger or something?"

"Because what? You didn't expect me to change at all between the ages of eighteen and twenty eight?" Frank scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You needed me: that was what it was. You changed, you  _adapted_  because I wasn't there for you then, and I want you back now, because we're good... we're good again, and I just wish you'd listen to me, you know? I know you best, I care so much, you can trust me the most."

"I did listen to you..." Frank trailed off, biting his lip a little.

"What?"

"When you told me I didn't need the pills."

-

And Frank wasn't sure if it was pitch black or he'd simply neglected to open his eyes, because for some odd reason, it didn't feel like he was 'seeing' anything at all.

He moved, getting up and finding the ground below his feet, not  _wet_ , but cold, and damp, oddly  _moist_ , perhaps. Whatever the sensation was, it was bizarre.

And again, Frank tried to open his eyes, now even reaching his hands to his eyelids, and attempting to prise them open himself, but still, nothing.

Darkness,  _emptiness_.

And Frank wasn't quite sure what to do, or where he was and what on earth he was doing here, and in fact, it was taken down to survival instincts as he began to  _run_ : one foot after the other, stumbling but somehow keeping upright and not colliding with anything or anyone.

Frank wondered if he was moving at all.

He began to reach out in front of him: his arms out, feeling for anything in his range, just  _something_ , fucking whatever, Frank could reach out and touch a spider for all he cared, he just wanted to know that was there was something more to this world than his bare feet and damp soil.

He wasn't quite sure as to why he hadn't resorted to speaking yet, in fact he wasn't even sure if he could, and he wasn't even sure if that mattered, he just knew that he needed to get something out, he needed to  _exist_ , he needed this all to be real, because it didn’t feel like it at all, and as Frank's lips parted, the possibility of this being a dream finally seemed to smack him square in the face.

But he called out regardless.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

And as he waited in silence and nothingness, the possibility seemed to make all the more sense, and despite the lack of a response, Frank even seemed to smile into the darkness,  _content_  or something.

Then, before he knew quite what was happening:  _cold_ , fuck, so fucking cold, his skin tingling a little as what seemed to be  _snow_  collided with his arms, and without even thinking, Frank went to open his eyes, and perhaps even having a heart attack at what he found.

His hometown.

His road.

His house.

And it was snowing.

Frank had been eight; he knew that instantly. He could never forget the day it had snowed like this, and he almost found himself drowning the cold outside.

However, he was pretty certain that he was still twenty eight, and he stood a hell of a lot taller than an eight year old, not that Frank had really done much growing in his life, but, he was certain of it as he finally grew the courage to approach his house: leaving behind footprints that imprinted the snow for just a moment before fading away into nothingness.

It was peculiar, as was this all.

And as he approached his home, he noticed a boy: perhaps about twelve, slender and awkwardly tall, with dark hair and dark clothing making his way up the path.

Frank didn't recognise him at all, but as he turned to call out to the boy, his words made enough sound to cause the boy to turn, but he seemed to notice nothing, leaving Frank to wonder if his words had faded away as quickly as his footprints had.

It was then that he began to just watch the boy; he placed a letter through Frank's letterbox, his finger reaching up to the doorbell, but his whole body seeming to shake a little as he did so, he cursed aloud to himself, turning away, his boots imprinting the snow as he left the unexplained letter and the house behind him, before turning down the road, and seeming to fade away into the cold itself.

And Frank had stood there, frozen, unable to let it go, and indeed wondering if the boy had even been real at all.

And of course the obvious option was to open that letter, but he found himself rooted to the spot as his father's yelling became audible, and with squeezing his eyes shut, and focusing extra hard, the world around him seemed to disappear, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing growing shallow and shaky, as he found his eyes forced open once again, this time filled not with black but an all too familiar shade of red.

A sigh, as he pulled away, "you had a dream again, didn't you?" Gerard shook his head, rolling over to his side of the bed, leaving Frank disorientated and extremely confused.

"Yeah... I... what's I...-"

"Your boss called back whilst you were asleep; he said he'd let you have your job back if you apologised to the dude... I said that was okay... I  _even_  told him thank you." Gerard grinned, seemingly excessively proud of himself for the aforementioned act of ‘kindness’.

And as happy as Frank was supposed to be, he found himself unable to focus on anything besides the dream, still vivid in his mind.

-


	15. (((plot vibes wtf)))

And as time went on, things had only seemed to worsen: the boy and his home town in the wintertime being a more than prominent subject in Frank's dreams over the course of the past week; his head focusing in open the letter and the broken home, and the boy with the dark hair that seemed to be somewhat of a living mystery.

And he'd been off his meds since, and no one beside Gerard had known, of course, but somehow this didn't feel like it was too with the lack of medication at all, because although this wasn't a cause for celebration, it wasn't necessarily a  _bad_  thing either.

It was just curious.

And Frank wanted to know  _everything_  he seemed to have forgotten, or had just evaded his notice, because surely this boy had to be someone, something, because you didn’t just have this many dreams about no one, and that town, the setting, everything else was accurate, so why shouldn't this boy have been?

Of course, it didn't matter because Frank hadn’t the slightest idea as to what he could do about it, because he wasn't in contact with any of the people he'd known as an eight year old, except besides his father, but they most certainly didn't speak anymore, and Frank didn't want to start again, just to ask about some boy he may or may not have known two decades ago.

It was irrelevant.

But it wasn't.

And Frank was scared.

But he wasn't.

Because the boy seemed to mean no harm at all, and Frank was just overreacting, and overthinking, and perhaps this really was just a figment of his imagination, but Frank had the odd nagging feeling in the form of recurring dreams, that it wasn't.

And the same thoughts haunted him as he laid in bed on a Sunday morning, Gerard beside him, saying something that he probably wanted him to care about, but Frank's mind was a million miles away, and he reckoned that there was honestly very little he could do about that at all.

Maybe he shouldn't have listened to Gerard, maybe that was what fucked him up in the first place, maybe that as what was causing these dreams, but it wasn't, because Frank had dreamed like this before, just not about that one specific and oddly curious thing.

He should've just explained it all to Gerard, and asked for his advice, and perhaps a blowjob or something, because that was Gerard's definite speciality, but Frank hadn't, and Frank wouldn't, and he wasn't exactly sure why; it just felt oddly personal and weirdly private, and it wasn't like Gerard would know anything a boy that may or may not have existed ten years before he'd even met Frank.

And Frank couldn't see how this was necessary or even if Gerard would listen, because he lay beside him, babbling on about something or other, and Frank couldn't care less at all - that was bad. This was all bad, and this would all be bad. And Frank would be okay with it until the very end, because this relationship with Gerard would always be sporadic at best: highs and lows, a rollercoaster of a relationship perhaps, but he reckoned that the highs most certainly made up for the times like these.

But of course, Frank was so very wrong, and so very oblivious, and Gerard was perhaps beginning to notice that not a single word he'd uttered was adhered to, and perhaps Gerard was beginning to anger a little, and perhaps it was easy to guess what could happen then.

"Frank?" He snapped, sitting up, and meeting the shorter man's gaze. "Are you even fucking listening to me,  _Jesus_?"

Frank let out a sigh, blushing a little, "sorry... I... I just I'm tired, and there's a lot going on in my head, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Well, okay..." Gerard sighed out, leaning back down, and into Frank's side, "tell me what's this mess going on in your head then?"

"I can't-" And Frank knew that Gerard wouldn't be listening to any of that the very moment he'd began, but still, for some godforsaken reason, he'd tried.

"You  _can_ , of course you fucking can, Frank." Gerard shook his head in disbelief, "I'm trying to be patient with you, okay, but you just make it so goddamn hard sometimes..." He let out a sigh, reaching out and tucking Frank's hair behind his ears, "you're so goddamn beautiful, though." And Frank blushed like always: simple compliments like magic spells when spoken through Gerard's lips.

"You're beautiful too." Frank muttered, leaning onto his side, facing Gerard as he did so, "it's just this stupid dream thing that's confusing me and I'm kind of embarrassed about it and it's just stupid and it doesn't have anything to do with you at all."

"Okay, I just... you're clearly upset or distressed or something, and I really don't like seeing that, but...  _okay_ , I believe you, Frankie, now come  _on_ , listen to me, will you?" Gerard let out a sigh, leaving Frank  _genuinely_  surprised at how easy that had been, like seriously who was this guy and what had they done with his dead ghost boyfriend, you know, the one with the stupid red hair? Not that Frank had many dead ghost boyfriends, or even just boyfriends for that matter... or even friends actually.

"Okay, of course, babble on about nothingness right away!" Frank exclaimed, with perhaps too much enthusiasm for someone who'd just woken up, but perhaps avoiding an argument with Gerard was enough motivation to throw yourself into a pit of bubbling lava. "I met that in a nice non sarcastic way, by the way." He added, moments later, blushing a little.

"Sure." Gerard's lips turned up into a smile as he put his arm around Frank. "Well, I was just kind of talking about Brendon really - he left a voicemail on your phone, he sounded really stressed out actually, it was something about you, but I don't think it was directly linked to you, but he wants you to call him back."

" _Fuck_." Frank exclaimed, shaking his head, "I really don’t want to deal with stressed out Brendon at this time in the morning."

"It's like eleven." Gerard added, raising his eyebrows.

"Fuck off, I slept in: I'm tired." He groaned, rolling over, and burying his face in the pillow. "I just want to spend a million years in bed."

"I can give you plenty of excuses to spend more time in bed with me." Gerard smirked, his words pressed into Frank's neck with the kind of kisses Frank could most certainly not handle right now. "If you know what I mean."

-

"And you're alright, are you, Frank?"

And her voice always had and always would be patronising, because Frank had never been better of course,  _until_  the very moment he walked inside his therapist's office.

Because he didn’t' need these visits anymore, even if infrequent, because if he was fine without the pills then he was fine without her - all he needed was Gerard, of course, and that was so clear in Frank's head then.

And Frank would chance the fall out of this all, no matter how bad it may be, because he was just insanely desperate to be right.

And he  _knew_  it was stupid; he knew he was stupid, but he knew Gerard stood with raised eyebrows behind him, on-looking, listening to every word that would be said, and perhaps such an invasion of privacy should have made Frank just a little uncomfortable, but in all reality, it made him feel just that little bit more safe and comfortable in this room, and even in his own skin.

Because Gerard was always there, and Gerard would always be there, and perhaps he needed something like that to count on now, even if he was insistent that it wasn't like that, because it was, and it would be, and it would stay that way.

Things would stay this way, no matter what the therapist said, no matter what anyone said, because Frank was happy with himself now, or at least he thought so, and Gerard said that was what mattered the most, and Gerard had a habit of being right about the most unlikely of matters.

Ad of course Frank still wasn't quite used to it, but with time, with years, he would be, because things would be okay some day, and he was sure of that like he was sure of the uselessness of the pills and his own head, and this very room, and the words uttered inside it, because he wanted the drive out here to be non-existent in his head with time, perhaps little more than a distant memory.

Something like the bedroom he had as a teenager, something like the woods out in Jersey, something like the boy he'd met in them would never be.

Because Frank reckoned the whole world could burn to ashes around him, and still, Gerard would remain, just a few metres away, slightly bemused by the situation, perhaps with one eyebrow raised, on-looking the world, on-looking reality, on-looking the harshness of it all, and the inevitable.

Gerard always seemed to look like he knew far more than he'd ever let on, and perhaps that was always true, and perhaps that was just the default expression on his face, but really Frank reckoned it was a mixture of both, because Gerard always seemed distant, and like his whole existence was a mystery, even to himself, and Frank was only just beginning to accept that as a reality and not something he could change.

Because he wasn't a lovestruck teenager anymore, who wanted a pathetic happily ever after with the wrong person, he just wanted Gerard by his side, and they didn't have to know  _everything_  about each other, and questions didn't have to come with answers, and problems didn't have to come with solutions, and perhaps it had just taken Frank twenty eight years of his life to learn that.

"Are you listening to me, Frank?" She began again; her voice just a little more forceful this time.

Frank seemed to snap back into reality, as he pulled his gaze away from the man in the corner she couldn't see in the corner, and forced a smile at her, because she needed it, and he needed whatever she scribbled down in response.

"Yeah, I'm just...." His words trailed off, fading into nothingness, as he faded out into nothingness, like the edge of a reef, safety and sunlight and suddenly the darkness and nothing and the sinking feeling in his stomach as he began to use entirely too much oxygen at once, and it wasn't like trying not to breathe as much would help either - it was inevitable, and the world crawled at him with inky black hands that left a mark behind them, over his vision, over the world, and Frank reckoned he was about to pass out right there and then until-

" _Frankie_?" It was Gerard's voice: instantly recognisable and would perhaps always be just at the back of Frank's mind, and within a second, he found himself glancing behind him, glancing at the invisible ghost of a dead boyfriend, and the concerned expression on his face. "Something's wrong..." He uttered, his words shaking a little, "we have to go home... tell her you feel sick or something,  _please_ , Frankie, you felt that too, didn't you?"

Frank paused for a moment, as he turned back to his therapist, wondering just whether Gerard had found his head in the same place as Frank had when everything fell black and the world seemed to claw at him with a vengeance.

"What do you keep looking at?" She spoke up, concern and confidence coming hand in hand in her tone. Frank's eyes widened a little in shock as he found himself stumped at what to tell her, because the truth was quite obviously  _not_  an option. "Over there," she gestured to the wall where Gerard stood with her pen. In response, Gerard moved so he was stood behind her, and met Frank's gaze with urgency, gesturing to the door as he did so. "What is it, come on, tell me, Frank. You can trust me."

"It's nothing... I'm just looking at the door, because... I... look, I don't want to sound rude but I really don't want to be here, and I'm starting to feel kind of sick, like  _physically_  sick... and I was wondering if we could maybe continue this... like another day... I... I'm sorry." He blushed a little, catching Gerard's gaze in the silence that followed.

"I'm a little worried about you, Frank, if I'm honest." She let out a sigh, "you've been diagnosed with schizophrenia and you keep looking at parts of the room as things were there... things that  _aren't_  there. You can understand my concern, I'm sure. Now, look, you're not feeling well, I can see that too, you do look awfully pale, but promise me that everything's okay, Frank, that you're not seeing things again, and that you're taking your meds again."

"Of course I'm taking them." And Frank couldn't quite bring himself to lie straight to her face, so he lied straight to Gerard's, his gaze fixated at the figure behind her, because that was one thing he had a hell of a lot of practice with. "And,  _no_ ," he forced a smile at Gerard, "I don't see anything else in this room, or anywhere for that matter... the only upset is with my stomach, and I'm  _certain_  of that."

"Thank you, Frank, shall I call you about rearranging the appointment then?" She asked, but barely received a nod out of Frank, before he made his way out of the door.

"Now don't tell me you  _really_  need to puke, because I don't want to see that-" Gerard groaned as they made their way down the corridor and out of the front door, and perhaps the outside world had promised itself as some sort of refuse and comfort from the confines of that room, but perhaps it seemed little more dangerous in reality.

"No, I'm fine..." Frank trailed off, because sure he  _didn't_  need to puke, but he certainly wasn't  _fine_ , and they both knew that. "Well... I'm... I don't know... you felt that too right?"

"Yeah... it was in  _your_  head though, just strong enough to seep into mine-"

"What do you mean?" Frank retorted, his eyes widening in shock. "You can see what's in my head-"

"Technically I  _can_ , but I don't make a habit of looking, but some things are so strong, like really passionate or fearsome thoughts,  _powerful_  thoughts that sort of breakdown the material barrier between us... I guess it'd just make you feel weird if you felt as if I could tell what you're thinking, but I can't, not  _really_." Gerard forced a smile, although it came off far more like a grimace, "anyway, I just saw you go really pale, and that sudden  _darkness_  and I don't even breathe, but I felt like I was choking, and I-  _fuck_ , it was  _weird_ , Frank, so fucking  _weird_."

"Suddenly I just didn't know what to say... it was like I'd tripped and lost my footing, like the world was disappearing beneath me... and in my head I saw the edge of a reef, and the darkness of an ocean, and drowning in it, and everything fading out around me, and I couldn't stop it... I thought for a good moment there that I could never break out of it, but... I-"

"You did." Gerard finished for him, confusion evident in his gaze. "How?"

"You said my name, I guess... that's cheesy as fuck, forget I ever even said that...  _god_..." Frank groaned, blushing a little as Gerard reached for his hand. "Fucking tell me if people can see you right now, okay?"

"Yeah, they can, but I'm nothing special, we just look  _normal_ , Frank, you forget that a lot, don't you? Now come on, we need to get in the car and get home, because-"

"Because  _what_ , Gerard?" Frank snapped, holding on tighter to his hand, "because you seem to just  _know_  an awful lot that I don't right now, like, that... that  _thing_  what the fuck is going on, because you're scared, and you're scared like you know what's coming, and you have to tell me or I'm not getting in that car-"

"Frank, don't be such a fucking  _idiot._ " Gerard narrowed his eyes, groaning a little as he did so. "Let me explain whilst we're driving, okay?"

"No-"

"Fuck, let me just summarise it, and then, look,  _ghosts_ , we're attached to people yes? I'm attached to you, but don't be so naive to think that you're the only fucking ghost attached to someone in the whole damn world here- you can't see them, I can't even see them, but you can sort of  _feel_  them, like... I could feel it then with that energy, and that kind of energy, that's a bad fucking ghost, okay? Of course, it couldn't hurt either of us  _directly_ , but... it could use the world, and... I have this horrible feeling it's attached to your therapist... look, you can't go back, we can't go back, we need to go home, and I need to  _think_ -"

"Gerard, if you're making this  _shit_  up I swear to fucking  _God_ -"

"Get in the fucking car, Frank."

And this time, Frank listened: perhaps it was just the distant, unnerved look in Gerard's eyes that really caught him off guard, and he daren't ask about it until they were driving back into town, and closer to home, and whatever comfort a shitty New York apartment could possibly bring.

"It doesn't have to be love that traps people together... it can be any kind of emotion, it has to just be that strong and in the right way... it's usually love, I reckon... I think that there was guilt." Gerard paused, "I'm sorry, I don't really know exactly what I'm talking about, I'm no fucking expert, you know... I've just been like this a decade, some people have been like this for hundreds of decades, you know?"

"So I'm going to grow old without you?"

"I'm  _always_  going to be here."

"Even when I'm all wrinkly-"

"Shut the fuck up, Frank, you know I don't have a choice, don't make me hate this, don't make me hate you."

-


	16. really sad chapter vibes im sorry

The hardest part was the realisation, and in turn, the staggered acceptance that he was indeed forgetting.

In much the same way that Frank's head was adapting and wiping New Jersey away for this alleged wonderful new start, that had really taken three years to get started, Frank was forgetting. Not entirely, of course, not in that kind of way - things were just fading away, the distant kind of memories, for when he was a kid.

It had started with the boy he couldn't recognise, and the inability to remember the colour of his bedroom walls, and what his high school looked like, and the name of his best friend in elementary school, and little things like that: awkward, and odd, but overlooked with time, until it seemed the hammer had finally hit the nail on the head.

Because this was the one thing in the whole damn world that Frank was determined not to leave behind; the one thing he was clinging to with all he had, even if it had been twenty or so years since she'd walked this Earth, Frank could  _never_  ever forget about his mother, and what she smelled of, and the way her voice sounded.

And it was exactly that - these blanks in his mind, and the mystery as to what had brought them on that left Frank laying awake at night, because he'd developed this horrible habit of his dreams being more of a walk down memory lane than anything else, although it really did feel like it was much less of a gentle stroll, and much more like he was being pushed into oncoming traffic on a highway called memory lane, but that wasn't nearly as catchy.

He couldn't go back inside his own head, not even when everything had seemed to be okay, because he couldn't accept that he was forgetting, because perhaps there were just some parts of Frank's memory that he  _knew_  he couldn't live without, and all in all, he was terrified of knowing, and as much as he hated to admit it, right now, ignorance and naivety was bliss... sleep deprivation, however, was not, and of course, there was also the matter of lying to Gerard in regards to what had brought on the eye bags and drained the colour from his face.

That's what Frank had said, and would continue to say, and Gerard wouldn't continue to believe him, that was for sure, but it wasn't going to make Frank say anything.

Because, okay, Gerard wasn't exactly the easy person to talk to, and that was a bad sign, and Frank knew it, but he also knew that he really couldn't give less of a fuck if he tried.

He just knew that this had to stop, that he had to fill this mess in his head by some means, but of course, he was stumped as to how he could possibly go about the aforementioned, and at least like this, he had somewhat of a legitimate reason to keep himself up at night. Not that it mattered, of course, because Gerard knew he was awake, and Gerard knew he was lying, and Gerard was probably hidden in the corner of the room, watching Frank's every move that very moment.

Frank just didn't care to know, because perhaps it was better off that way - whatever that meant, because at this point, he really wasn't entirely sure.

But he knew so much about Gerard; he knew too much, like his head was throwing everything else away in favour of the ghost boy with the hair brighter than Frank's future, and Frank just didn't quite know what to make of that at all.

He grabbed himself a glass of water from the kitchen, slamming his hand against the light switch in a desperate and clumsy attempt to illuminate the darkness that three am brought, however, it wasn't like he wasn't accustomed to it with the amount of 'stress' he'd been under recently. He shook his head, glancing over the ignored box of pills at the back of his cupboard: the ones he didn’t take anymore, as he grabbed something to eat,  _anything_  really, because he needed something to distract himself from reality and the way it seemed to be falling to pieces around him.

"That does sound quite stressful." The silence was slashed in half with a voice all too familiar, and Frank wasn't even startled anymore, just  _pissed off_ , not that he should have been, because Gerard was his boyfriend after all, and it wasn't like he was unhappy or ungrateful, it was just perhaps the intriguing notion that Frank liked the idea of Gerard more than he liked him as an actual person.

"What?" Frank snapped, brushing his hair, having grown long over the past month or so, out of his face with shaking fingers. "What the fuck are you talking about, Gerard?" He glanced across at the man making his way over from the hallway to him; he didn’t doubt that Gerard had been watching him the whole time, however he didn't find himself with the energy to give all that much of a shit, so perhaps it seemed that at least the lack of sleep was good for something.

"You and staying up late and the 'stress', and all the lying, Frank, and the ghost and your therapist, and it's all.. I'm worried about you- I think it might... I don't know, but something's up with you, and I'm really fucking worried, Frankie, and you're gonna get pissed at me, but I'm your fucking  _boyfriend_ , and it's my fucking job to be worried about you." Gerard let out a sigh, taking a seat beside Frank, and grabbing his hand, regardless of whether Frank liked it or not, because this wasn't a romantic thing, not now, this was just Gerard needing to feel real, and Frank could appreciate that, even in this state.

"Yeah, fucking something's up with me." Frank let out a sigh, leaning his head onto Gerard's shoulder, "I'm not sleeping anymore-"

"I've noticed... you're supposed to sleep, you know? Like seriously, Frankie-"

"Yeah, I  _know_ , look, I can't sleep, I'm just... it sounds ridiculous but I'm scared, and I don't want to tell you why, because... I don't know... I feel like you're already in my head enough, I just-  _fuck_  it, since you're in my head why the fuck don't you just read my mind so you don't have to make me say it."

"It doesn't work like that, Frank." Gerard shook his head, gripping the shorter man's hand more tightly. "I don't see thoughts, you just output emotions, or  _strong_  feelings, like  _vibes_ , I guess, that's the word, it's a stupid word, but... I don't know why you're not sleeping, I just know that there's something wrong with you."

"I keep forgetting." Frank uttered, shaking a little as he did so, "about my childhood, about who I am, I'm in dreams that are memories and I  _know_  they are, but they don't make sense, like patches are missing, like there are holes in my reality, my head, I guess, I just... and it was insignificant things at first... but then... but  _now_ , I can't remember what my mum's voice sounds like, and I don't... I don't want to realise what else I've forgotten and what else I've lost and I can't live with not knowing that, but I don't know why this is happening and I don't know how to stop it."

"Maybe it's just your head fucking up because of a  _lack_  of sleep - there's no way around not sleeping, Frank, come  _on_ , you have to go to sleep, you can cuddle up really close to me, and tell me everything that you dreamed about in the morning, and we'll see how things are then, how about that?"

"I can't do that, Gerard, I really  _can't_ -"

"You can do anything, Frankie, don't be ridiculous, you're so-"

"And I thought you were stuck in my head and not in some make believe happily ever after fantasy." Frank snapped, rolling his eyes, but soon growing tired, and letting Gerard grab him by the hand and lead him back to their bedroom, and lay him down on the bed, and pull the cover over them both, and pull Frank into his chest, because Frank trusted Gerard entirely too much.

They both knew that.

"I love you." Gerard whispered into the darkness, "and who says that reality can't have a happily ever after?"

"I never took you for a soppy fucking optimistic." Frank let out a groan, meeting Gerard's eyes, "but I love you too."

-

Gerard was wrong.

So fucking wrong; like he'd always been destined to be wrong, and perhaps that was indeed the case, and perhaps Frank hadn't expected anything more or anything less.

This 'dream', however, was just the one that really did it for him: back home again, with walls tearing down and the shouts and cries of a broken home, and a lock on his bedroom door, shaking as he sat in his bed, unaware of what would become of him, unaware that one day, maybe he would make it out okay.

Frank couldn't help but feel for the thirteen year old boy he'd once been; the one who still feared the world, the one who knew nothing worth fear, but still cried every night, because at that age, he'd deserved nothing of what he'd gotten, but life never played fair.

The door slammed upon, the younger Frank shaking and crying as his father stood in the doorway, looking upon his son with the most hateful, drunken look in his eye: one Frank had known, and would always know too well - it was a cruel kind of justice, in which justice didn't really exist at all: where Frank just waited, just expected, and just let it happen, because thirteen year old Frank Iero couldn't imagine a world without this mess.

At one point, he'd perhaps even gotten the idea into his head that he 'deserved' this, and really twenty eight year old Frank wanted to do something: anything,  _everything_ , but he remained frozen and invisible in the corner of the room as the man who'd perhaps once loved him pulled the thirteen year old to his feet and pinned him up against the wall, screaming words that slurred and made no sense at all, and Frank couldn't bare to watch: to relive it all, but he couldn't look away, because he deserved more than that.

And Frank was left: silent and still, as his father stepped away from his son, and the room began to breathe a little easier, until the bedroom door was locked behind them, and the man smiled at his son, leaving Frank distant and confused: unable to place this memory in his head, and with good reason - reason he'd figure out horrifyingly soon.

Because Frank was left to watch, to realise, to  _remember_ , the most important thing he'd forgotten, and with good reason, because even such a notion was one Frank wanted to rid his mind of, but he couldn't even breathe, let alone pull his gaze away from the scene before him, as the man he'd spent his whole life running away from told his thirteen year old self to be quiet and stop struggling, and the whole room reeked of alcohol, and of  _him_.

Frank had always known his father to be more of a monster than a man, but not  _this_ , never  _this_ , but perhaps this dream was the price, the reverse: the thing he could remember when he began to forget the rest of the world, however Frank wasn't sure that he'd wanted to remember, that he'd wanted to  _know_ , but it was obvious what actions followed a drunken asshole's cries of 'shut up', and 'don't you dare tell anyone', and of course, 'stop struggling'.

To put it bluntly, to put it simply: to put it with the words that Frank sick to his stomach with pure horror - his father had fucked him that night; the night Frank couldn't remember, the night Frank couldn't  _bare_  to remember, and with reason, so much reason.

Tears had clouded his vision to the extent he only noticed the man's exit as the door locked again: this time from the outside, and his thirteen year old self lay on the bed, knocked out, by the looks of it, and in a mess that Frank didn't dare recall: one horrifying, and made even more so by the sickening feeling of deja vu that the situation was surrounded in, because Frank wanted  _desperately_  for this to be fake, for this to be just a dream, but he couldn't make himself believe it, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was only then that he could move: a few steps out of the corner and to his younger self still out of it on the bed; he wanted to say something, to say he was sorry, to say it'd all be okay, but the latter was most definitely a lie, and he reckoned the boy would rather have fifteen years of ignorance and naivety, having forgotten the events of this night, and than to grow up and live with it.

It was however twenty eight year old Frank who didn't get quite the same luxury; who was forced into coping, and waking up next to a boyfriend who'd promised him that everything would be okay: a boyfriend who'd affectively lied to him, but boyfriend he couldn't tell, but still a boyfriend that had to know, and by the mess in his head,  _would_  know.

" _Frank_?" He suddenly jolted back into reality, sweating into his sheets to an unimaginable degree. "Fuck, are you okay?" It was a stupid question and Gerard knew it, as did Frank, who didn't warrant it an answer: not out of spite, but panic and confusion, as he struggled to sit up, his whole body shaking as he did so.

"I thought you were gonna die,  _fuck_." Gerard added, a few moments later, "whatever was in that dream...  _fuck_ , Frank... you... it's like it didn't go away... your mind... it's still-"

"It's because it's  _not_  a dream, Gerard." Frank managed to force the words out, his whole body tensing as he diverted his gaze to meet Gerard's. "It's a fucking memory, and you know what? Maybe I didn't want to remember, maybe this makes me content in forgetting everything else in the whole damn world-"

"What was it, Frankie,  _please_?" Gerard choked out, pulling the twenty eight year old into a hug, "please talk to me, please tell me, please explain."

"I don't know what's happening." Frank admitted, choking on his every breath, "this is all just a mess: everything's a mess, and I'm fucking scared, Gerard, because I don't want to dream, because I... I want my head to stop this... it's... it's this... it's... this here with you, isn't it? I'm all nervous, and my mind's still in Jersey because of you, and it's making my soul sick, and I-... I need it to stop, I-"

"Frank, what are you talking about?"

"We need to go back to Jersey, Gee,  _please_ , I just-... I need to set things straight in my head again, I can't, I can't live like this, I-... I don't even know where we'd go, but I... maybe just for one day, maybe just for-"

"My mum will let you stay with her." Gerard said instantly, what was left of his heart heavy in his chest, "she thinks it's her fault: that you ended up like this, and she's all apologies... she still thinks about you, about us, you know?"

"How do you know?" Frank asked, all wide eyes, his tears stopping for a moment.

"She's my  _mother_... I just  _know_."

"And I can't even really remember what my mother looks like..." Frank trailed off, shaking as he did so, "I... I... I need... to visit her grave, to visit those woods, just to be there again... I think maybe it's... I just... it makes sense to me..."

"Frankie, please, just calm down." Gerard let out a sigh, pulling his arms tighter around his boyfriend, "will you tell me what was in your dream? What did you forget?"

"I didn't forget anything." Frank snapped, his words half-muffled against Gerard's neck, "I  _remembered_..." He pulled away, his body still shaking all over: unsure as to how the hell he was supposed to deal with this, and what Jersey could even do for him, but it was his final option, because New York had nothing left besides the man beside him in his apartment.

"Remembered what, come on, Frankie,  _please_ -"

"When I was  _fucking_  thirteen... I... I... I... my dad... I-" Frank shook his head, stepping away from Gerard a little, "I can't fucking- I can't, I just... I don't have the words: I don't have anything at all, I just-"

"Can I try to read it out of your head?" Gerard asked, somewhat timid in his respect, and perhaps even a little surprised with Frank's nod, but he stepped forward nonetheless, holding Frank's hands tight and closing his eyes.

And just for a brief moment: a few fucking seconds, Gerard was beside Frank in the part of the dream that was on a constant loop, still holding Frank's hands tightly as the two watched on in horror, suddenly everything became so horrifyingly clear.

As the world faded away from Gerard's vision, he stumbled backwards, Frank catching him with his hands, "did you... did y-you-"

"Yeah..." Gerard trailed off, his words sincere, but with little to say for himself. "I'm so fucking  _sorry_ , Frankie, I... I... I'll kill him, I swear to god, I-...  _fuck_... why does this make you want to go back to Jersey, though?"

"Because I want to set my head straight: I want to get everything right, my head's like a net now, full of gaps and holes, and I need to fill them, even if I remember things like this, I just... I can't stand the notion of feeling like a stranger in my own head."

And Gerard nodded; he didn't understand, perhaps he could never truly understand, but he knew that for Frank, he would always try the best he could, and perhaps that was the closest to any kind of conventional love the two were ever going to get.

-


	17. Gerard's Hair Is Once Again A Major Plot Point

Frank had fallen asleep with tears on his cheeks, at some time in the middle of the night in his car on the way out of New York, and had awoken to a spectacular sunrise as they drove through towns and roads he found himself familiar with - it felt different, it felt weird, but there was this sensation throughout the entirety of Frank's body: a tingling feeling, like he belonged here, that despite the hell that he'd runaway from, he'd always belong here.

And perhaps much the same could be said for the redhead in the driver's seat; Frank didn't even know that Gerard could drive, Frank wasn't even sure he actually could, but they hadn't died  _yet_ , and he was too tired to give much of a fuck otherwise.

It was only as he fully sat up in his seat, fixating his gaze out the front window and the world ahead of him, that his brain and sanity finally kicked in and he came to the slap to the face realisation that he hadn't dreamt  _at all_.

It was odd, and it was like suddenly his whole mind was on fire, and he couldn't even find the words to convey it to Gerard, because he could barely understand it himself, let alone explain it,  _fuck_ , was it the drive? Was it Jersey? Was it this place? Had it all been just some yearning at the back of his mind for home, that fucked him over and manipulated him into returning home?  _Fuck_. Or perhaps it was just a fluke, and perhaps hell would be in his mind the very moment he closed his eyes tonight once.

"What was it?" Gerard asked, glancing across at Frank in the passenger seat, having noticed the shorter man's awakening, but Frank only stared at him: all wide sleepy eyes and confusion. "The  _dream_ ," Gerard stressed, "your  _dream_."

"Oh..." Frank trailed off, pushing his hair out of his face and setting his gaze on the Jersey sunrise: the very sunrise he hadn't encountered in  _years_. "I didn't have one." Frank admitted, his tone muffled and shaky, but sincere and, of course, honest.

Gerard's eyes widened, and he even turned to look at Frank, " _what_?"

"Gerard get your fucking eyes back on the road- look, do you want me to drive, you need a break, don't you?" Frank offered, sitting up straighter in his seat, and totally not changing the subject.

"No, Frank, I don't need a break: I'm dead, I don't get tired or fatigued." Gerard rolled his eyes, "I'm better at driving than I expected, you know? Like I haven't actually driven before, and-"

"You're  _fucking_  kidding me-"

"No, you know, I told you? Back when I was... back  _before_... my mum never let me drive or anything..." He trailed off, "well fuck her, because I'm  _great_  at driving: no accidents, no deaths, look at me, Frankie!" He exclaimed with entirely too much vigour.

"I fucking-..." Frank trailed off, "I fucking give  _up_." He shook his head, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket and putting his feet up on the dashboard as he lit it.

"That's a safety hazard." Gerard gestured vaguely with one hand towards Frank's feet.

"You  _can't_  drive -  _that's_  a safety hazard." Frank stressed, leaning back in his seat and reassessing his existence briefly. "But... yeah... I didn't dream, I have no idea why or what... I just... it's a  _good_  thing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is." Gerard smiled, "maybe you're getting better, Frankie, see I told you that you were better off without those pills: now they've worn off, look you're doing better, aren't you?"

"I guess." Frank shrugged it off, not entirely sure if he agreed with Gerard, but he was in no mood to get in an argument with the guy in that moment.

"There's...  _there's_  also... this...  _thing_  that I may have discovered like an hour ago while you were asleep." Gerard began, his voice shaking a little as he did so, "I stopped to get you some breakfast, which is on the backseat by the way, and I didn't  _want_  anyone to see me, like I was very fucking sure of that, but... but... people  _did_ , it was like... like I was just...  _alive_ , I was so fucking freaked out... I... I didn't know what the fuck was happening, then I  _realised_... it's this place and  _you_."

"Are you  _serious,_ Gerard?" Frank exclaimed, sitting up immediately, "this... this... you're supposed to be  _dead_..."

"Yeah, I know, well, you know how when I'm closer to you and like we have this  _connection_  thing now, I get... I get like... 'stronger', or more human, you know what I mean? It's like that with my body too, I think, and because now we're suddenly a hell of a lot closer to my body, and you're right with me, I'm like...  _twice_  as 'real', fuck, this sounds weird, I'm not entirely sure myself, but... I really don't know how we can deal with this... sure, you can pop in and see my mum, but  _fuck_ , I  _can't_." Gerard shook his head, "and then if people just  _see_  me walking around, like people I  _know_ , like my  _hair_  my fucking  _hair_ , it sticks out like a fucking sore thumb-"

"Dye your hair." Frank met his gaze, "black, I think black would look good on you, come on, Gee, you've had the same fucking colour for like eleven years, anyway, then if you just don't make eye contact and it's not people who know you directly then, then we'll be fine." Frank promised him, "but yeah, we're gonna have to sleep in the car, I guess."

"What is this, Frank? How long are we staying here?" Gerard asked, slowing the car a little as what they instantly recognised to be their hometown approached.

"I don't know." Frank admitted, "I just... I need to figure this mess out... I want to see my dad again, that sounds fucked up, but... I want to set things straight... I just want everything to make sense again."

"What if it never does? What if we never go back to New York?"

"Well, then, I guess... surely it's better for you here isn't it? You're more  _real_ , you're stronger, doesn't it  _feel_  better? Like as soon as I woke up here, I just felt  _better_ , different, you know? Didn't you  _get_  that?"

"I did." Gerard admitted, his tone barely audible. "But come on, your big plan is  _hair dye_ , this is bullshit, Frankie-"

"If someone claims that you're a dead man walking it's an  _insane_  accusation, isn't it? We just act like we don't know what the fuck is going on, and you can just be someone who looks a bit like Gerard, come  _on_ , Gee, please... I..."

"Fucking  _fine_ , go buy in there and buy some hair dye, huh?" Gerard parked the car, folding his arms in disbelief. "I know this abandoned house on the outskirts of town that like no one ever goes in, there's some bullshit rumours about it, we can dye it there."

"Gerard, breaking into abandoned houses,  _seriously_?" Frank exclaimed, "I'm twenty eight, not seventeen again-"

"Well, I think you're forgetting something, Frankie, I haven't aged a  _day_!"

-

"It's definitely in worse condition than when I saw it last." Gerard commented, running his hand along the chipped paint coating of the fence that had once been in a good enough shape to surround the property.

"What when you saw it last, like, a decade ago?" Frank raised his eyebrows, running a hand back through his hair, following Gerard, just a few paces behind him; Gerard was oddly enthusiastic: all vigour and smiles - perhaps it was just Jersey again, and the physicality of his body and his spiritual strength, but whatever it was, Frank really liked seeing Gerard like this, because although he wasn't  _depressed_  exactly, he wasn't explicitly happy very often either, and it seemed as if this very moment was an exception.

Frank was just at peace with himself; he'd gotten some sleep, Gerard was happy, Gerard felt more real, this place felt like home, and this was some stupid fucking  _idea_  that had Gerard written all over it, and if Frank closed his eyes he could probably kid himself that he was seventeen again, but he reckoned that he wouldn't want to pull his eyes away from the beauty that was Gerard Way, even if just for a second.

"Twelve years ago, actually." Gerard corrected him, coming to the end of the fencing that had survived the past twelve years, and waiting for Frank to catch up with him, before sliding through the gap into the fence into the garden of the house. "I spent a lot of time here before I met you. You replaced it, in an odd way: you became what I needed, more important than this place. It was just a place to think, silence, a room alone, somewhere I could breathe..." He paused for a moment, running his fingertips over the decaying brickwork. "It's still beautiful, even after  _all_  these years, it's  _ancient_ , but beautiful."

"Like you then." Frank smirked as he made his way through the fence, feeling entirely too old for this, but  _fuck_  it,  _fuck_  everything, and  _fuck_  Gerard, yes, Frank really wanted to fuck Gerard right now, but perhaps not against a decaying ancient wall.

" _Hey_." Gerard narrowed his eyes, shaking his head, "not cool."

"Like you then." Frank continued to grin, but Gerard didn't even deem that one worthy of a response, simply making his way up to the front door and giving it a push. " _Locked_?" Frank raised an eyebrow as he approached from behind, and watched as Gerard shook his head at him, before retrieving a key from beneath a nearby plant pot, containing a bush which may have been green when Frank was  _twelve_  or something from the looks of it. "You're telling me there's been a key under the plant pot for fucking twelve years and no one stopped to look."

"No one fucking goes here, Frankie, that's why it's so good." Gerard grinned, pushing the door open with a creak, and leading the way into a wooden hallway, illuminated only by two large windows on either side of the house: it was enough light to see in to an adequate degree, but Frank longed to hit a light switch, and instead, made his way into the room on the left, which was almost completely illuminated by the sunlight from the window.

Gerard shut the front door behind them and followed his boyfriend into the room on the left. "I never saw anyone else here, you know?" He began, stepping closer to Frank, "it's weird, it's like this place exists only in my head, and it's kind of weird to have  _you_  here even, but... you're  _you_ , and you're perhaps the only person I'd consider letting here."

"You're right: it is beautiful, oddly so, but... just...  _peaceful_..." Frank trailed off, reaching out to touch the windowpane, and the coating of dust lining it coming off onto his fingertips as he did so. "Why did you stop coming, though?" He asked, beginning to make patterns in the dust with his fingertips.

"What do you mean?" Gerard asked, stepping forward and mimicking Frank's actions, however as opposed to random assorted patterns, going straight for a little heart in the top corner, with 'G + F' written inside it.

"Are you fourteen?" Frank asked, looking up at the heart Gerard had drawn, with a disapproving, but oddly sentimental look in his eyes.

"I'm not the one as tall as a fourteen year old." Gerard shrugged it off, before proceeding to write 'Frankie sucks dick' just a little below it.

Frank just narrowed his eyes at Gerard, having heard it all a million times before, of course, "you said..." he began, following on from Gerard's question, before he'd noticed the shitty little heart, "you said I replaced this place for you, or something. Why did you stop coming?"

"Mikey followed me here once." Gerard began, letting out a sigh, "it was horrible, it was like an invasion of privacy and I freaked out, and by  _freaked_  out... I punched him... you know what I was like... you remember what he told you about me then?" Frank nodded. "So I was scared he'd follow me back here again, and I needed somewhere else to be at peace with myself, so I took my art supplies, ready to draw, and I walked the opposite way... and... and I found this  _beautiful_  clearing in this beautiful forest, but the forest was nothing next to the boy I met there."

"Fuck off." Frank blushed, smiling like an idiot as he did so. "So, really, you should have thanked Mikey for being an invasive little ass, otherwise you'd have never met me, and we wouldn't be here right now...  _fuck_  that's weird to think about."

"I reckon I would have met you anyway, we kept bumping into each other, didn't we? At that shitty therapy group, yeah? We'd have met there, and you followed me outside and just watched me smoke and stood with me like an idiot, but you were beautiful, and-"

"I only followed you out because I'd seen you so many times before: I couldn't stop thinking about you, you know, you fucking  _asshole_." Frank exclaimed, his words echoing through the house as he raised his voice. "Hey, this place echoes!" He tried again, his voice even louder.

"And you're calling me fourteen..." Gerard trailed off, running a hand back through his hair, "come on, we can dye my hair upstairs."

"What does this place have fucking running water because I find that hard to believe-"

"It's an old house, Frank, it has this really weird little plumbing thing where the water gets piped up from the river... it's not exactly running, like it's a weird little well thing, come on, I'll show you the bathroom." Gerard reached his hand out to the shorter man, who made a point of rolling his eyes before taking it and letting Gerard lead him upstairs, cringing visibly with every creak from the stairs.

Gerard pushed open the first door on the right, and the bathroom was quite obviously not the most hygienic place in the world, but it'd do, well, it'd have to, because Gerard had become oddly insistent upon dying his hair ever since he'd first agreed to it, which baffled Frank slightly, but he didn't question it much.

"I swear you know this place better than you know your house here." Frank let out a sigh, leaning back against the bathroom wall and opening the packet of hair dye he'd bought earlier that day.

"I definitely spent more time here than I did at 'home'." Gerard smiled awkwardly, his eyes widening as he met his his reflection: astoundingly  _vivid_ , even in the shattered, dusty mirror. "Fuck, my reflection, I look... I look... this place, fuck, this place." He shook his head, adjusting his hair awkwardly.

"Hey, at least we only have to do this once because your hair doesn't grow when you're dead." Frank added, as he scanned his eyes over the instructions.

"Mmm..." Gerard nodded, far too preoccupied with his own reflection to really add much else in the way of a response.

"Right so," Frank began, "I put bottle A into bottle B and shake 'vigorously' before applying: first to the roots and then the length of the hair, before leaving for fifteen minutes, and then rinsing under warm water-"

"I can assure you that  _this_ ," Gerard gestured to the aforementioned odd little well thing that looked like it was from the 1700s, "does not do  _warm_  water."

"Okay then, under cold, nasty ass river water, and then dry, and you're done." Frank finished, throwing the instructions to the ground. "Are you doing this yourself or am I doing it for you?"

"Well I  _could_  manage it myself,  _but_... I'd rather you did it for me..." Gerard grinned.

"You're an asshole." Frank shook his head, but didn't protest in the slightest, "sit on this fucking stool thing then," he kicked a stool from the corner into the middle of the room, finding himself somewhat disappointed when it didn't break instantly the very moment Gerard sat on it - maybe it was something do with the fact that he was a ghost, whatever, Frank was still disappointed.

-

"I look fucking  _hot_... like a weird goth dude, but  _hot_... hot weird goth dude..." Gerard had been running his hands through his newly black hair for something like the past five minutes: unable to take his eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

"Vain goth dude, more like." Frank commented from the doorway, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket for the first time since New York, and looking over the  _six_ new messages from Brendon and Ryan combined; he knew he should probably take a look at them, you know, nevermind tell them that he was in a completely different state and that if they went into his empty apartment, he had in fact  _not_  been murdered and/or kidnapped, but he really couldn't be bothered, because Frank was a quality friend.

And okay, Gerard looked  _insanely_  hot.

"Hey, shut it, hot vain goth dude,  _maybe_..." He trailed off, turning away from his reflection for the first time, and grinning at Frank, "come on,  _admit_ it, I'm so fucking  _hot_  right now."

"Can we just go back downstairs, because this fucking bathroom is tiny, cramped, and cold, and downstairs is so much nicer-"

"And you  _obviously_  need to write 'Gerard Way is a major fucking hottie' on the window." Gerard smirked, but made his way downstairs regardless, leaving Frank to shake his head as he hurried to follow him, shaking his head as Gerard walked over to the corner of the room to the left, opening the chest of drawers in the corner like he  _owned_  the fucking place.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked, quickening his pace to catch up to the  _technically_  older man.

"I just remembered something." Gerard began, opening the top drawer with a click, "I left my old sketchbook here, if it's still here, I will  _shit_  myself... because who the  _fuck_  wants to look at art I did as an angsty teenager-"

"I do." Frank grinned, putting his arm around Gerard, and watching intently as he pulled a black sketchbook, covered in dust, but still vaguely intact, out of the drawer.

"How did I guess?" Gerard rolled his eyes, stepping away from Frank and into the lighter part of the room as he opened the book onto it's first page. "I was  _sixteen_  when I started this book..." He exclaimed, "god, you don't even want to imagine sixteen year old me..."

"I looked about the same at sixteen as I did at seventeen." Frank shrugged it off, "and I didn't look  _that_  bad," he followed Gerard into the centre of the room.

"I looked nothing like I did at sixteen as I did at twenty two... as I do  _now_..." He trailed off, "at what is technically...."

"Thirty two." Gerard shook his head in disbelief, "no, that  _can't_  be right-  _hey_ , look," he showed the opened page on the sketchbook to Frank, "that's Kurt Cobain, don't you think that's actually pretty good, I mean, the nose is off, but, you know, I was sixteen, I tried."

Frank smiled, taking the sketchbook from Gerard, "that's fucking  _amazing_." He smiled up at Gerard as he flicked to the next page, finding himself not entirely sure what he was looking at, "what's this?" He asked Gerard, holding it up to him.

"It's a memory from when I was like eleven or twelve, I don't know, it was weird, I was at the park, and there was this boy, he was hurt or something, I think he was climbing this tree, and I think he fell out, and he was so nice, you know, and I stayed with him, I helped him, I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't been there. That was like the  _one_  time in my life where I felt like a good person." Gerard reached out, tracing the pencil lines with his fingertips, "it's kind of fuzzy, because I can't really remember it properly, it seems distant, like maybe it didn't really happen or something, but I don't care if it did or not, because it's a nice memory, and I like it."

"See, you can be a good guy when you want to be." Frank smiled, watching as Gerard closed the sketchbook.

He shrugged in response, "I never found out what happened to the boy, though. Wish I did."

"Who knows? Maybe you'll meet him again someday."

"Maybe."

-


	18. Gerard's Excellent Sense Of Aesthetic

Perhaps sleeping in an abandoned house wasn't exactly the best idea, perhaps running away to New Jersey with your dead boyfriend wasn't exactly the best idea either, but Frank had still done both of them.

The place had something in the way of bed at least: it was kind of moth eaten, but Gerard had assured Frank at least a thousand times that he'd slept here like ten times before, and it had only been a matter of time before Frank grew tired and gave in, all just to curl up into Gerard's side: moth eaten abandoned house bed or not.

Of course there was the addition of, 'it's either the bed or the floor, Frank', which had certainly helped encourage him, but that didn't sound anywhere near as pathetically cute, and that's what Frank wanted from this: cute and happy, because he could sleep again - it had been the second night, and come what appeared to be five am the next morning, Frank just laid there: well rested and ecstatic, and it wasn't like you could blame him.

The past two days had easily been the best in his entire life, and all he had was an asshole of a not quite 'real' boyfriend, an abandoned house, and some sleep for once in far too long - Frank was easy to please, it seemed.

Or perhaps it  _was_  something to do with how hot Gerard looked with black hair. Of course, Gerard looked hot with red hair, this was just different, and Frank needed different, but the same: he needed New Jersey, but he needed this shitty house and not 'his own', he needed Gerard, but it seemed he needed him like this, as opposed to the version of him that had died in the forest, not at all far from here.

Gerard was different now, mature, a good different, still an asshole, of course, but perhaps he'd learned something after he'd spent ten years watching the man he loved go through the worst kind of hell, and with nothing he could do to stop him, or perhaps it was just the whole realisation of it all: seeing your body, motionless,  _dead_ , lying there with a bottle of pills, and having yourself forced to watch as the people who mattered the most discovered what you never would wish upon them in a million years.

Frank didn't know; Frank didn't want to think about it.

He got out of bed, making his way over to the window on the right side of the bedroom, finding himself comforted once again by the Jersey sunrise, and the familiar skyline: littered with little buildings, an all too familiar treeline, however finding itself barren and nowhere near as beautiful in the January skies.

Frank perhaps  _needed_  to go back there; it just seemed right, however, he wasn't quite sure if he couldn't handle it, or what Gerard would say, because to the man still curled up in bed, not even asleep, just  _lying_  there, the forest was not just the place where they'd met, but the place where he'd died, the place where the world changed, where the world stopped, and Frank didn't even dare to imagine what it must be like in Gerard's head.

"Stop it." Gerard let out a half muttered groan, sitting up in bed, and causing Frank to turn away from the window to look at his boyfriend in the sunrise lit room.

"Stop what?" Frank asked, furrowing his brow, watching as Gerard pulled the sheets away from him, running a hand back through his now black hair, and getting to his feet and making it to Frank's side.

"You're thinking bad thoughts: I can feel them. Be happy, come on, Frank, I thought you said this place was making you feel better." Gerard met the shorter man's gaze with a deep concern, putting his arm around Frank's shoulders as he stood closer to him.

"It is making me feel better:  _so_  much better." Frank let out a sigh, far too content in Gerard's arms, because perhaps Gerard was really all that he needed; he'd focused so much on the normality and routine of his 'life' in New York, and he relied so much upon it, but now, all he had was Gerard and somehow he was easily ten times as content. "I didn't dream tonight either," he continued with a smile, "I'm so well rested, it's like this feels  _wrong_. And I just feel happy here, with you, and just you, and this house is  _so_... I don't have the word, it's decaying, but it's doing it in the most beautiful way, and I don't know, I just feel at peace with the world, with myself."

"So what were the bad thoughts then?" Gerard asked, following Frank's gaze out the window and to the all too familiar tree line. "The forest?" He exclaimed, not having expected that. Frank nodded in response, and Gerard just remained silent, in thought for a moment or two, "what about it? Just  _memories_... or..."

"How do you feel about it?" Frank asked, meeting Gerard's eyes, "I'm gonna put this kind of bluntly, Gee, I'm sorry, but you  _died_  there... does it not like...  _fuck_ , I don't know how to word this, but isn't it just-"

"It's much more than a place I  _died_  in, come on, Frank." Gerard even  _laughed_  that off, and well, that pretty much was Gerard in a nutshell: making light of his own death, "I guess it is kind of weird, but I don't know, I died, that doesn't feel like a big deal anymore, I've had ten years to mourn myself, I'm good now: all I really ever lived for in the end was you, and I have that now, and I'm happy, and here, I'm more 'alive' than ever: this is a happy place, and the words contain far more happy memories that one bad one, don't they?"

Frank nodded, albeit hesitantly, "like when we met? And I thought you were the biggest asshole in the world?"

"Yeah, like that: don't hate me for it, Frankie, I just didn't want company, I was an angsty pissed off twenty two year old-"

"You still are." Frank butted in, glaring at Gerard, "you're gonna be for the rest of forever, Gerard,  _god_ , that's weird."

"Everything's weird, Frankie, get used to it." Gerard smiled, pressing a kiss to Frank's cheek, "come on, appreciate the sunrise while it's there, we can worry about the past when the sky doesn't look nearly as pretty."

"You have one fucked up sense of priorities, Gerard."

"But an excellent sense of aesthetic." And then that fucking Gerard grin that meant the entire fucking world to Frank Iero.

-

"Are you sure you're alright?" Frank asked for something like the seven millionth time.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Gerard was and perhaps always would be insist: far stronger than he let on, and for Frank's sake, because Frank Iero was easily the best important thing in the world to him, even outdoing himself as of late, which was something he would have never guessed happening when he was alive.

Perhaps in a way, his death had been a good thing; he'd deserved this - watching Frank, seeing his pain, unable to reach out for so long, and never in the right ways, and now he'd finally gotten through and they were okay, he was finally grateful of the man he was in love with, and what he'd done to get back to him, because it wasn't just as simple as walking into a clearing and looking hot anymore.

"This  _forest_." Frank let out a sigh, gesturing with his hands at the trees and vegetation around them: all familiar, but they were just a little further away from town than the usual spot was - it was a good fifteen minute walk, and still Frank wasn't entirely sure what the purpose of this was, but he just felt like he  _had_  to do it, to be here, to be at peace with himself, or something like that.

"I'm okay, Frankie, I mean it." Gerard let a smile take over his lips, as he held his hand out to his boyfriend, the contact sending an odd sort of wave of warm through his body, and straight into his heart; because no matter how 'real' and visible he became, Gerard was still dead, and would always be just so  _fucking_ cold, like the body in his grave, just across town, which they were growing ever closer to now.

"You promise?" Frank asked, looking up at the taller man, with an easily misplaced look of trust in his eyes, because everything seemed to revolve, well not around  _Gerard_  specifically, but the two of them together: the connection, the way it made him feel alive, even though he wasn't the dead one of the two.

"I promise, of course I do." Gerard and keeping promises was something entirely knew to the both of them, but in no way something either despised; it was just like Gerard was a better functioning human being-... well... undead ghostly human being now - it was odd, it really was.

The two continued their walk in silence for the next five minutes or so: hand in hand, breath held in intervals as the skyline and the atmosphere grew all too familiar, until the extent: the point of it all where Gerard found himself stood there, frozen to the spot.

" _Gerard_?" Frank's eyes widened as he turned back to face his boyfriend. "What's- are you  _okay?_ "

"We're not far from where I died." He let out a sigh, brushing his hair away from his face with his fingertips. "It's... I didn't... it's getting overwhelming: I didn't expect this."

"Expect what?" Frank asked, his concern increasing by the second, rushing to Gerard's side and clasping his hand tight.

"Since I'm in between the world of the living and the dead, I get... I get glimpses of either side and the voices of things that once were sometimes... and..." Gerard's voice caught up in his throat: the images, the visions of ten years past that surrounded him, filling his eyes with tears, "it's really vivid now, I-..." He shook his head as he focused in upon the one vision, the memory, perhaps more real right then in his own head than in Frank's: eighteen year old Frank, calling out his name, searching for him in the woods.

And part of Gerard wished Frank had never found him, that Bert had never called Frank, and Frank had gotten over this all, and in a few days, it'd be a news report: a body found in the woods, and Frank would listen to the creepy rumours and fucked up stories, told by new lips, a new face: a different guy, one that would care, one that would still be alive now, but it could never be like that, and that was only becoming apparent now.

" _Gerard_!" Twenty eight year old Frank raised his voice, breaking through and catching Gerard's gaze. "Do you want to go back?"

"I  _have_  to go back- I can't- I can't see this again- don't make me do this again, I- I-..." And Gerard was fully in tears at that point, letting Frank put his arm around his shoulder and walk him away from that place, as he began to sob uncontrollably, the two remaining silent as the whispers and echoes of hell on earth faded away, back to the corners of Gerard's mind, back to the corners they stayed in: still there, but  _hiding_ , not strong enough to haunt him in the rest of the world, the rest of his 'life'.

"Jersey's not all good." Gerard was the first to speak: his words shaking a little, and his voice slightly hoarse. "It's stronger: it  _all_  is. The bad as well as the good." And Gerard continued to sob, Frank holding him tighter, the two quickening their pace as the abandoned house came back into view; Frank knew the place comforted Gerard, and he just wished it would do the same once again.

Gerard sat down in the 'garden' of the place, although garden was hardly worthy of the mess of shrubbery and untrimmed grass between the back of the house and the red brick wall ten or so metres away. He pulled his legs up to his chest with his back resting against the oak tree, which was easily the most majestic thing in this place: perhaps the only thing still standing, just as beautiful and just as proud as it was both ten and a hundred years prior.

Gerard's sobbing became quieter at least as Frank followed him into the garden, Gerard having practically sprinted back towards the house, leaving Frank to catch him up and join him beneath the tree a minute or so later.

"I've never seen you cry like that." Frank began, exhaling loudly as he reached for Gerard's hand, "nowhere near like that. You barely even cry, only a few times and then... that's just a few tears... and..."

"I saw..." Gerard pulled his face up to meet Frank's; his cheeks red and tear stained, and if he hadn't dyed his hair black it would have been an ample opportunity to make some sort of reference to the colour of his hair, but  _no_ , Gerard didn’t have black cheeks. "It was... I could see the memories of that place... so strong... so connected to me... like I can ignore those things ninety percent of the time, because they're unrelated to me and not as strong back in New York, but now... that's I... I..."

"What did you see?" Frank asked, still naive, leaving Gerard confused as to just how the twenty eight just hadn't quite figured it out yet.

" _You_. Ten years ago, looking for me, calling out my name, running through the woods: you... about to find me, but not in the way anyone should... I'm so  _fucking_ sorry..." Gerard buried his face in his knees and began to sob once more.

"I forgive you." It took Frank a few minutes to get it out, but perhaps he'd never meant anything more. "Honestly. It's okay, Gerard, it's okay." He reached out, brushing Gerard's hair away from his face as the taller man turned to face him: his face even more tearstained and puffy than before, but still beautiful, because Gerard would  _always_ be beautiful in Frank's eyes - there was no questioning that.

"You mean that..." Gerard trailed off, "how do you mean that? I  _killed_  myself- I fucking- I don't deserve that, I don't deserve you, I-"

"You deserve  _everything_." Frank pressed his lips to Gerard's; the kiss short, but so fucking  _meaningful_ , speaking the millions of words that were on each other's minds to the tune of 'I need you', because nothing else had ever felt quite so true.

Gerard couldn't quite think of what to follow that up with, simply taking the easy option in, pressing his lips back against Frank's: this time with far more passion, far more meaning: longer, but less sad, less needy, with Frank's hands in Gerard's hair, and Gerard's holding Frank's neck.

"I love you." Frank whispered, pulling away only slightly: the words like a secret for just Gerard to hear. "I'm  _in love_  with you." He added, brushing Gerard's hair away from his face. " _Fuck_." He bit his lip, pulling away a little further, just so he could meet Gerard's eyes, and gauge the 'older' man's reaction. "I mean that, not like I ever have before. This is different, I'm not sure how, it just...  _is_."

"That was you thinking about losing me again... that was you reliving that experience through my words, that was you realising you couldn't do that, that was you... realising everything..." Gerard explained, not that Frank had really asked. "I knew, you know, perhaps before you did, I can  _feel_  your emotions in a sense, and the stronger they are, the clearer... love is a  _very_  strong emotion."

"Shut the fuck up and just say you love me too." Frank choked out, beginning to cry a little himself, and dear lord this was all just exceedingly pathetic but of course, in the best way.

"You love me too." Gerard smirked at him, "I'm kidding, I love you  _so_ much, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do, you fucking idiot." Frank let out a sigh, leaning his head into Gerard's side, "it's... just... need to hear you say it: confirmation that this isn't all inside my head. It's that too: people seeing you here, it's so... weird, but... it's... I needed it: I needed to know that this is real - don't  _ever_  leave me again."

"I promise. Why would I do that?"

"You promised me you were going to be okay in the woods, how did that turn out?" Frank raised his eyebrows, but of course, didn't really doubt Gerard's words for even a second.

"I didn't... I... I try my best not to think about that day, you know?" He let out a sigh, putting an arm around Frank, the two looking like fucking teenagers curled up at the foot of a tree in the garden of an abandoned house, but well, let's just say that zero shits were given at all.

"Yeah. It's easier now, with you here, everything’s easier: I thought I needed to be  _normal_ , I thought I needed a normal life: routine and structure and everything I was supposed to be despise, but everything they tell you that you need, but I didn't need that at all, I just let myself be consumed by it. What I really needed: what I've always needed, is you."

"And are you sure you're not letting yourself be consumed by me?" Gerard just let the question run through his mind.

"Depends what you mean by  _consumed_." Frank let out a chuckle, "because if you're talking  _sexually_ , then no, I haven't been 'consumed' enough-"

"We were crying like five minutes ago and now you want to fuck?" Gerard looked at Frank: utter disbelief in his eyes.

" _Yes_."

And there would  _always_  be that part of Gerard Way that could  _never_  say no to Frank Iero.

-


	19. The Gift To The World That Is Gerard Way's Ass

There was probably something morally wrong about this, but then again, there was probably something morally wrong about everything, and with that in mind, Frank Iero found himself prepared to fuck his dead boyfriend in the bed of an abandoned house.

Seriously, his seventeen year old self would be so fucking jealous of just how 'cool' and 'edgy' this was, but twenty eight year old Frank was perhaps just a little more concerned with Gerard, and the way everything felt different in New Jersey.

He'd never anticipated how the physical changes Gerard had gone through as he moved closer to his grave would effect fucking him, but then again, that was probably something to do with the fact that Frank had at least a _gram_ of self respect, however, in that very moment that the aforementioned dead boyfriend had Frank pinned down against the bed, all mentions of self respect were now utterly non-existent in Frank's head.

Because come on, who wouldn't chose Gerard Way over dignity and self-respect?

"I missed this." Gerard's words were rough, and half muffled against Frank's chest, his lips fixed upon the skin of Frank's collar bones, with their clothes discarded on the floor, because it totally wasn't like anyone could just walk in here at any time, not that anyone ever did, but it wasn't impossible.

"It's not been _that_ long since we've fucked." Frank's words were breathy and half forced between his lips as his fingernails dug into Gerard's shoulders.

"It's different like this." Gerard pulled away for a moment, meeting Frank's eyes as he continued, "I feel less like Gerard, who was your boyfriend before he killed himself, but Gerard, your boyfriend, who just happens to have killed himself. It feels-... it's Jersey, isn’t it? It's different."

"Shut up," Frank let out a sigh, pushing his lips against Gerard’s, and catching him just a little by surprise as he did so. "You want me to fuck you, or-?"

" _Fuck me_." Gerard certainly didn't need asking twice about that one, falling back against the bed, and watching with that stupid fucking smirk as Frank crawled on top of him, kissing him with little regard for caution, or taking things slowly. "Fuck me already, Jesus Christ, Frankie, I-" Gerard choked out as Frank pulled away from him.

"I'm taking my time, shut the fuck up. I could not fuck you at all." Frank grinned at him, however the both of them knew that Frank just leaving and giving up now was certainly something that _wasn't_ going to happen.

"You're the one who wanted to fuck in the first place, Frank, don't be fucking stupid-"

"Oh, I'm fucking _stupid_ , now, am I?" Frank raised his eyebrows at that, moving his lips down to Gerard’s neck, ensuring he was rough enough in his actions to leave one big fucking mess of bruises.

"Yeah, fucking stupid, because you're not fucking me already." Gerard giggled a little, however he really hadn't anticipated for Frank squeezing his hand around his cock, releasing some sort of strained whimper as he did so.

"Shut the fuck up, Gee." Frank smirked to himself, because _yes_ , Gerard did shut the fuck up after that, only opening his mouth for more 'half-groans' as Frank continued to touch him, of course never enough for it to really mean anything, but definitely enough to ensure that it didn't go unnoticed.

After a few minutes of just plain _teasing_ him, Frank sat up, admiring the mess of hickeys upon his boyfriend's neck, and the obsessive look in his hazel eyes, and of course, the words behind his lips, the words that wanted out, but not as much he needed Frank to fuck him, so for that, Gerard would shut the fuck up.

"You want me to fuck you now?" Frank asked, smirking a little as he pushed Gerard's legs further open.

"Y-yeah..." Gerard choked out, not entirely in the most able state to speak in, " _please_. I need it, really fucking bad," he let out a groan, moving one hand down to his cock, needing to touch himself, needing to fucking come, but he knew all too well that Frank didn't like that at all - slapping his hand away.

"Gerard, we don't have any lube, I-" Frank came to a sudden horrific realisation, to which Gerard laughed in his face. "What?"

"I came prepared, there's lube in my jacket pocket." He giggled to himself, leaving Frank to roll his eyes in disbelief, as he pulled the little bottle from the pocket of Gerard's jacket, lubing his fingers up, before spreading Gerard’s legs wide.

"You ready?"

"Course I'm fucking ready." Gerard snapped, as Frank pushed one finger in, letting Gerard adjust for a moment, "you know, being dead, I don't feel pain, so really there's no need to prep me at all, you can just fuck me."

"You can be horny, but you can't feel pain?" Frank raised his eyebrows at that. "That's something I don't get."

"I feel, basically, a reflection of your emotions, in a weird way, so... I'm horny, because you're horny." Gerard smiled, looking oddly proud of himself as Frank pulled his fingers away, "so please, just fuck me, because you're insanely horny right now."

And Frank had to blush at that, lubing his cock up and pushing Gerard's thighs back, not caring if he left marks on them, fuck, it's be amazing if he left marks, as he lined himself up, pushing in slowly at first, before coming to the most wonderful realisation that he really didn't have to.

"Is that okay-"

" _Frank_ , just fuck me, please." Gerard choked out, brushing his hair away from his face as Frank began to slam into him, his breath littered with moans, which were perhaps a little too loud, perhaps a little too staged, but fuck, Frank couldn't care, because in a fucking weird way, he'd missed Gerard's ass, and he'd especially missed fucking it.

It wasn't quite the same as it had been before, but it was good enough. Gerard would never be warm around him, Gerard would never actually come himself, but he'd feel that realise as Frank did, he'd feel it all as Frank did, and as Frank pounded into the gift to this world that was Gerard's ass, he came to realise just how connected the two were: soulmates, in an odd sense of the word, and with an even odder way to come to realise it.

But speaking of coming, Frank soon was, and _in_ Gerard's ass, and the two were a mess of breathy moans and an overdose of hormones as Frank lay down beside Gerard, pressing a kiss to his lips as he did so: quick, meaningful, a non-verbal 'I love you'.

"You okay?" He asked a few moments later, getting his breath back.

"Yeah," Gerard smiled, "it's been far too long since we've done that properly."

"Is it not weird for you, like, being dead, and-"

"Is it not weird for you? Fucking a dead guy?" Gerard raised his eyebrows, and well, yeah, Frank shut up right about then.

-

They'd stayed in that house for perhaps too long, but perhaps Frank couldn't quite give a fuck: finding himself oddly attached to the place, or more accurately, the look in Gerard's eyes as he looked around. He really seemed to be at peace here, and Frank wasn't even sure that Gerard could be at peace, and for how happy he was here, Frank wondered if he'd ever want to leave.

They could stay here for a little while longer, less of a little while even, more of a long time, Frank didn't care at all, he just cared about Gerard exclusively, and he really seemed to be at peace with himself and the world sat down on the floor with his eyes fixated upon the window and the world outside: light streaming in and illuminating his already pale face - fuck, he was so fucking beautiful.

Gerard had no responsibilities, he had no ties, other than to Frank, but neither of the two really looked at that as a liability, Gerard was even immortal; he could stay here forever, at peace, where he was happiest forever, and Frank envied him so much, because he could never say the same for himself.

And that regarded the messages on his cellphone in particular: Brendon and Ryan both demanding an explanation and multiple times, and Frank didn't want them to worry, but he didn't want to talk either; he just wanted to walk straight out of his life in New York and leave that mess all behind, because in that very moment with Gerard sat just a few meters away from, happier than ever before, Frank doubted that he'd ever leave Jersey again.

Leaving had been the worst idea, in fact, Frank's life was just a long string of bad ideas and the fucked up consequences, and the difficult matters of trying to deal with them. The two together were like the dream team for making a royal fucking mess out every worthwhile situation and opportunity, because Gerard was pretty much the pioneer of bad ideas, and Frank was the headcase who let them ruin his life - Frank listened to Gerard, that was his first mistake.

It was certainly Frank's favourite mistake though, because every word from Gerard's lips was absolutely beautiful, and Frank found himself so sickeningly in love with the guy he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Fuck, at least he didn't have to worry over the matter of confessing this mess of feelings to him, because he was certain that Gerard already knew, or could feel it at least, because it certainly explained that overly smug little smirk that appeared on his face from time to time.

Frank jumped a little as his cellphone vibrated in his hands: a call from Brendon, an incoming call, and just as his thumb hovered over the decline button, Gerard was at his feet and by Frank's side with a concerned look in his eyes.

"Why are you ignoring your friends?" He asked, glancing between Frank and the phone: unable to figure this one out.

"I just want-... I can't deal with that anymore: New York, and everything. I don't think I could ever go back-"

"There's a difference between going to a different state and answering a phone call, Frank." Gerard let out a sigh, snatching the phone out of his boyfriend's hands and accepting the call, putting it onto speakerphone and letting Brendon's voice sound through the room.

"Frank? Where the fuck are you? What's going on? Why are you ignoring us? What the fuck has happened?" Brendon had at least a million questions, and as much as Frank hated it, he couldn't ever blame him for it, because it was quite obviously himself that was to blame.

"You didn't talk to him at all?" Gerard exclaimed, looking at Frank with an odd kind of confusion, leaving Brendon perhaps even more confused on the end of phoneline.

"Gerard?" Brendon asked, unsure just what the actual fuck was going on right now.

"Yeah, hey." Gerard began, continuing to look at Frank in confusion, "I thought Frank would have texted you or said something, I don't know... he's fine, he's just... I don't know, doesn't matter, I'll talk to him later. Look me and him, we're in New Jersey, he like... it's complicated but he really needed to go home for some personal issues, and we might be here for a while now, we don't know, but me and him are perfectly fine, I promise."

"Can I talk to him?" Brendon asked, not that he was particularly suspicious of Gerard, he was just concerned for his best friend.

"Frank, come on, talk to him." Gerard let out a sigh, squeezing his boyfriend's hand, and holding the phone out to him.

"H-Hey..." Frank let out a half-hearted exclamation, attempting to sound at all enthusiastic or like he gave one single fuck about anything that wasn't Gerard and New Jersey.

"Frank? Jesus fucking Christ, we thought you'd died or something..." He trailed off, "look, what the fuck is going on, please? Just explain, be vague if you must, just fucking- nothing makes sense, Frank."

"I... I kept having these weird dreams, like nightmares, like really fucking bad, about home, Jersey, and places I went as a teenager, and I was so distraught one night and I begged Gerard to just let me go back there, I don't, I just needed to be there, and now we're here, and I haven't had a single fucked up dream or anything, it's just different here, I'm happier here."

"You think you're ever going to come back then?" Brendon asked, his tone suddenly rather disgruntled, but not without good reason.

"I don't know, of course, I... it's not like you're never going to see me again, Brendon, I just, I need to sort myself out now - it'll work out, I promise." Frank forced a smile, despite the fact that Brendon couldn't see it all the way in New York. "Look, I'll text you again, I just... I thought you'd be angry-"

"I am angry." Brendon protested, before laughing it off, "but how glad I am to find you're okay sort of balances it out."

"I'm okay, I promise, I'll talk to you later, okay." Frank glanced up at Gerard, who had never stopped looking at him weirdly, "bye, Brendon." He ended the call and shoved his cellphone back into his pocket, Gerard continuing to watch him like a scientist might study something unexplainably fascinating.

"You're never going to go back to New York." Gerard told him - it wasn't a demand, but a fact, because Gerard knew, just as much as Frank did, and deep down Brendon did too.

"I... I..."

"I understand, in a weird way, I do, but, you can't keep lying to and ignoring your friends." Gerard let out a sigh, before pulling Frank into a hug. "I'm glad you're okay too," he added.

-

"You sure you're going to be fine with this?" Frank asked, holding tight to Gerard's hand, perhaps out of habit more than anything, but it also served as a gesture of comfort.

"Of course I am, it was just the forest, this is different, and it's not like we can just sit in an abandoned house forever, is it?" Gerard let out a laugh, seeming far too free and comfortable - it seemed almost unnatural, perhaps to the point that it was unnerving, but all in all, Frank found himself far more unnerved by the fact that he found his boyfriend being happy unnerving, but then again, it was Gerard.

But in that same way, the Gerard beside him was a very different Gerard to the one he'd known ten years prior.

"Fuck, I'm getting weird flashbacks and memories with like every step." Frank let out a sigh, glancing around at the all too familiar streets, the two making their way in the vague direction of the park: something neither of the two had really frequented a decade ago, making it a perfect place to just sit and talk, without Gerard having a mental breakdown again.

"You're not the one who can see memories, Frank, this place it's fucking..." Gerard let out a sigh, "I'm okay, they're not bad memories, and I can block out the majority of them, it's just weird, you know? I can see my sixteen year old self walking down the street, that sounds kind of trivial, but I was on the phone with this guy who I really liked at the time, and he asked me to be his boyfriend, and I was so fucking happy-"

"Not Bert?" Frank raised his eyebrows, cringing a little as he came to realise he'd pretty much forgotten all about Bert McCracken up until that very moment.

"No." Gerard let out a sigh, "it lasted like a month, but you know, I was sixteen."

"And I would have been eleven at that time." Frank let out a laugh at that, "dear god, that's fucking ridiculous. Eleven."

"God, stop it, you're making me sound like a creep." Gerard laughed it off, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'd stopped thinking about Bert, though." He added, "I wonder if he's still around."

"I spoke to him that day..." Frank exhaled loudly, holding onto Gerard's hand just a little tighter. "After you stormed out, when I was just sat on my bed, he told me what he thought you would have done, and it... fuck, it was the worst thing... the worst fucking thing."

"I'm sorry." Gerard's voice was hushed, looking away from Frank, "I just wonder if he's still around. Not in like... a... I'm just, I'd want to see him again, he's not such a bad guy, and people change, he's had ten years-"

"We can if you want, I just, I think you're forgetting that you're dead." Frank added, meeting Gerard's gaze with a slight smile.

"Bert's into the supernatural shit, he'd get it, why I want to see him, you know? He knows about this stuff as well." Gerard smiled, the two making their way into the park, everything feeling so fucking real around them, and dear god, it was fucking weird: inexplicably weird. "Mikey wouldn't." Gerard added, a few moments later, "Mikey would be weird about everything, and it'd upset him, it's probably best we just leave him out of this."

"He's your brother." Frank protested, unsure as to quite what to make of this; he kind of understand where Gerard was coming from, but in the same way, the guy sounded like a fucking idiot, as much as he loved him. "He was also one of my best friends."

"Yeah, well you're pretty fucking good at ignoring them, aren't you?" Gerard snapped, his words coming out harsher than he had anticipated, leaving the two in regret for a painful few moments as Gerard scraped together some form of apology. "Fuck, I'm sorry... I..." He let out a sigh, "I didn't mean that."

"It's okay." Frank's voice was quiet, his tone sort of half-hearted, unsure if he quite meant it, but always certain of just how in love with Gerard he was, and in the end, the two kind of balanced each other out.

"Promise me, Frankie?" Gerard asked, meeting Frank's gaze with sincerity. "That sounds like something I would have said ten years ago - I don't want to be that version of me anymore. I want to make this easy for us: I want to make this work. I love you."

"I promise." Frank smiled, "I love you too."

And as Frank said so, Gerard caught sight of a particular memory: stronger than most, out of the corner of his eye: two guys, one with bright red hair, one with short black hair, holding hands, with that same look in their eyes when they looked at one another.

-


	20. There's So Much Plot Right Now I'm Actually Overwhelmed

At four am, Frank came to both a decision and a conclusion, with dawn light streaming in through the windows, and neither of the two lovers really asleep in bed, but still they lay there, deep in thought, whisked away, but with eyes wide upon and fixated upon two different corners of the room.

There was always something wrong, and that very thing lay at the back of Frank's mind, stemmed from their walk yesterday afternoon, just through the park, through a town they knew too well, that seemed almost like a different world through older eyes.

He hadn't mentioned it to Gerard, but with how much he couldn't get it out of his mind, he wouldn't be all that surprised if Gerard already knew, because yesterday afternoon they'd passed dangerously close to Frank's old street, and all he could think of was that house and the man that may or may not still reside in.

And in those hours, Frank had gathered perhaps thousands of things he wanted to say to his father, but whether any of this was really a good idea was a different matter entirely, and well, Gerard was great with ideas, so Frank did consider talking to him about it, but it was four in the morning and he hadn't slept, and he was hardly in the mindset to do anything besides think destructive thoughts.

And he couldn't fucking sleep, and it fucking sucked.

He rolled over, facing Gerard beside him and giving his boyfriend a small nudge, to which, he rolled over and faced Frank.

"Go to sleep, Frankie, it's like four in the morning." He let out a sigh, propping his head up on his hand, "you're already beautiful, but you need your beautiful sleep."

"And you need to stop being so fucking cheesy." Frank groaned, looking up at Gerard, "do you know?" He asked.

"Know what?" Gerard asked, moving a little closer to Frank.

"What I'm thinking about? You know with your ghost mind reading power bullshit or whatever?" Frank asked, gesturing awkwardly with his hands, well yeah, of course his hands, he wasn't waving at Gerard with his dick or anything, although that would probably be easier than explaining just why he might possibly see his father again.

"Sort of." Gerard sat up, focusing for a moment, "it's about your dad, but I don't know what exactly."

"Mmm..." Frank nodded, sitting up too, only to lean his head into Gerard's lap, because despite this all, he was still fucking tired. "I want to see him, I just... talk to him, I don't know, maybe even just see if he's still there in that house."

"Makes sense." Gerard nodded, responding in exactly the way Frank had expected him not to. "What do you want to say?"

"Just ask him why he's such a fucking asshole. I'm like twenty eight now he's gotta be like sixty, he can't push me around anymore." Frank spoke with an unexpected degree of courage. "I wanna ask him why, you know? It was all fine, he was a good dad until mum died. I miss her, I wish I could talk to her too."

"Maybe you could, I mean, I don't know, if she's still somewhere here, drifting around, then I could try to find her." Gerard began, meeting Frank's eyes, "I don't know how much luck we'd have though, but still you'd have to have a conversation through me."

"I think she'd like you." Frank admitted, smiling up at Gerard, "then again, I really am quite biased, aren't I?"

"So do you wanna just check out your old house? Just ring the doorbell, see what happens, because he might not even live there anymore, it might be some random old lady or something?" Gerard asked, playing with Frank's hair as he spoke.

"Why not?" Frank shrugged it off, "I really want to punch him in the face if I do see him, though, and you'll protect me, right?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Gerard let out a chuckle, "I will fight everyone in this goddamn universe for you, Frank Iero."

"So if we're seeking out both my parents, are you not gonna-"

"No." Gerard shook his head firmly at that one. "You're not dead, Frank. You don't get how complicated this all is."

"Well, couldn't I stop in and see Mikey or your mum because they were there for me a lot after you died, you know? And I didn't say a thing since I got out... it was all New York, new life, some bullshit that I thought would make everything okay. I didn't know what I was doing: I still don't."

"You could, but you talking to Mikey again makes me want to talk to Mikey again."

"And why is that a bad thing?" Frank retorted, raising his eyebrows.

"How many times do I have to fucking say it?" He exclaimed, shaking his head, "I'm dead."

"You could explain. I could explain. Either of us could explain. We could both explain. Whatever - he's your brother, don't tell me you don't miss him."

"Of course I fucking miss him." Gerard's voice grew softer, "he's my fucking little brother, you're never going to understand how close we were, but it's different; he doesn't have this lovestruck thing like you do. You seem to love me no matter what, and I need that, and sometimes I feel like I take advantage of that, but I try not to, this is me trying my best, because this is a second chance for us and I can't fuck this one up."

"Gerard-"

"Has Mikey even forgiven me for killing myself?" Gerard asked, his words slashing the air: everything too blunt, and Frank shivered a little.

"He's your brother, he's missed you, he's going to want to see you again, regardless." Frank let out a sigh, leaning into Gerard's side, "I hated you at first, didn't I? Didn't want anything to do with, that's because I thought I was going crazy, but really I was going crazy without you."

"You weren't crazy at all." Gerard continued, his tone rather adamant in nature. "I mean that, and I know that."

Frank paused, not really wanting to start an argument, "okay, Gee, I'm gonna go to sleep now." He rolled over, pressing his face into Gerard's chest.

"Okay." Gerard paused, brushing Frank's hair from his face, and moving to press a kiss to his lips, "night, Frankie."

"Love you..." Frank muttered, closing his eyes and letting the night close in around him.

"Love you too." Gerard responded, but by that point Frank was already asleep.

-

Frank felt sick the very moment he stepped foot upon the road. Of course, it wasn't just any road, but one of a far too familiar variety.

It wasn't anything special to anyone really, in fact, it wasn't even all that special to Frank himself, it was just his road, and within a few minutes walk he'd find himself at that house, the house he couldn't quite dare to call his anymore.

He knew only then, only in that moment with feet on familiar gravel, that this was a bad idea, but it was in that very same moment that he realised there was nothing he could do about it anymore.

He glanced beside him to face Gerard, the taller man holding tight to his hand and continuing to walk forward with nothing said between the two; Gerard had been reluctant too, but they'd made some stupid little deal about Gerard going to see Mikey, or at least acknowledging his existence if Frank did this.

It was a stupid idea, and Gerard came to that realisation too, but still, the two walked, nostalgia aching through Frank's bones, as every footstep became all the more familiar, and the world around him seem to close in on him again, as if once he set foot in that house he might not ever leave again.

He gripped Gerard's hand more tightly, desperately looking up at his boyfriend, with a panicked look in his eyes, however, Gerard didn't take notice; his mind taken away by what Frank didn't see, but what he did, especially as they approached the house, the whole atmosphere seemed to change into one of horror and hatred, and before him, things that no one should have ever seen: a woman and a man, the man chasing the woman out into the road, only for her to trip and crack her skull on the curb, lying broken in the street as the man stepped away.

Gerard only stirred as a car (a real one) turned around the corner, driving straight through the mess of the woman on the road, and the man beside her, and leaving them to disappear into thin air.

Gerard swallowed hard, muttering a, "fuck," under his breath as he quickened his pace, the two nearing Frank's house with the most intense discomfort.

"What?" Frank asked, grabbing his boyfriend by both hands and forcing his gaze into his, "what's wrong, Gerard?" Because in that moment, Frank desperately wanted something to be wrong, he desperately wanted a reason to turn back, a reason he couldn't do this, but with every step there was only a million more reasons as to why he should keep on going.

"Just something I saw..." Gerard trailed off, glancing back to the curb where a smaller road joined this one.

"A memory kind of thing?" Frank asked, following Gerard's gaze with desperation, despite the fact he knew he could never see anything.

"Yeah.." Gerard swallowed, "it... it wasn't pleasant. This whole road seems to have this bad kind of feeling that goes straight to your bones, do you feel it too?"

Frank nodded, "I thought it was just nerves, though." He paused, his eyes pleading with Gerard's, "what did you see?"

"You don't need to know." Gerard let out a sigh, pulling his gaze away, forward, and burying the vision of that woman's body: bloody, bruised and broken. "It was horrific." He let out a sigh, the two stepping forward, growing ever closer to Frank's house.

"I'm not a baby, Gerard, tell me." Frank insisted, really just eager for anything to distract him from what lay before him in the form of a house he hadn't set foot in for too long, and in the same way, not long enough.

And as Gerard struggled to form some sort of response, he found his gaze fixated upon another figure at the end of the road, and as he focused in upon it, he recognised it to be the very same man, the woman's body in his arms, carrying her still bleeding, broken body out of the road and down the path into the woodland.

And as much as Gerard needed to rid the images from his mind, he needed to follow the man too; he glanced back at Frank, who grew evermore concerned by the second, and remembered how the man and the woman in his arms would be there forever, whereas the man beside him would not.

"She died and now, now I think he's burying her. I don't know. I hope he is." Gerard choked out, turning back to Frank, and pulling him closer, "there's a man, there's a woman too, she fell, she cracked her head upon on the curb, and he carried her body out towards the woods. I want to follow them." Gerard pressed a kiss to Frank's lips, pulling away.

"Gerard, I-"

"I can follow them later, I have to be there for you now." He held Frank's hand tighter, "I promised I'd be there for you."

"That sounds important, though-" Frank protested, using anything as an excuse.

"Nothing is more important than you." Gerard insisted, turning to the house now only a few steps away, "it's this one, isn't it?"

Frank swallowed, "yeah. Can you see anything? Like memories..."

Gerard focused for a moment, stepping closer, "I can feel them, but I... I can't see anything... it's like some one or something's protecting them... it's weird..." Gerard turned back to Frank, thinking for a moment, "step back just a moment, just to the other side of the street."

"Why?" Frank asked, but with the look in Gerard's eyes, he obliged, and watched as his boyfriend stepped closer to his house.

Gerard stood at the gateway, stepping forward and focusing upon the front yard, his head beginning to ache, and the memories beginning to make sense of one another, but still in that moment, he saw nothing more than a figure: ghostly, ethereal, ancient perhaps, stepping forward from what appeared to be nowhere.

The figure appeared to be female, her features coming into focus as she stood before Gerard, acknowledging his presence, but choosing to look straight past him and out the gate towards Frank at the other side of the road.

"Don't bring him here." It took Gerard a moment to realise that it was the figure who had spoken; her voice somewhat muffled, and appearing more in Gerard's mind than the real world.

"Why not?" Gerard asked aloud, only for the figure to ignore him, continuing to stare at Frank, unnerving Gerard just a little. He tried again, this time speaking the same way the figure had, more in his mind, "why not?"

This time, the figure seemed to take notice of him, turning to face him with a somewhat confused expression, "don't bring him here. Bring him here and he'll die here."

Before Gerard could question the figure further, the front door of the house opened, and in the doorway stood a woman, this one far more real in nature, and in her presence, the figure beside him faded away into nothingness.

The woman appeared to be in her early sixties, with blonde hair and wrinkles upon her face, but with that sparkle in her eyes still somewhat intact; she seemed to be vaguely friendly, a good person, from what Gerard could feel from her, but still, there was something with this place, and that figure, it was like something was blocking out everything here - one memory screaming louder than all the rest and perhaps rendering itself the only one audible.

"Can I help you?" She asked, looking at Gerard with a kind of innate distrust, but then again, Gerard had just been standing in her garden, talking to himself for a good few minutes now, it might have caused her to wonder just what was wrong with him.

"Uhh..." Gerard trailed off, glancing back to where Frank had stood, to find him making his way through the gate and to Gerard's side.

"And you?" She turned to Frank, with the same kind of distrust.

"I was just... I was wondering if my father still lived here, I guess he doesn't, so, I guess we'll just go now." Frank blushed a little, his words phrased awkwardly.

"Was your father... I can't quite recall his first name... something... beginning with A perhaps, but the man who lived here before me was a Mr Iero." She paused, deep in thought.

Frank glanced at Gerard with a kind of confusion, unsure what quite had happened here, but Gerard had no answers, instead, he couldn't see anything at all.

"Yes," Frank finally found the words, "I'm Frank Iero, I moved out when I was eighteen, we never really spoke, and I came back to Jersey with Gerard," he gestured to Gerard, "and I just, I was wondering where he is now."

The woman paused for a moment, "would you like to come in? For a cup of tea? My name's Beth, Beth Anderson. I don't know everything, but I can tell you a little about your father."

Frank glanced at Gerard, before nodding, "yeah, that'd be nice."

Gerard however, found himself with an odd kind of sinking feeling in his chest, one directly linked to what the figure had said to him: a feeling he couldn't quite get out of his body, but he knew it'd be ridiculous to say anything, and spirits were often out of touch with reality, she probably hadn't even been aware that she was talking to him, perhaps imagining another man in his place, and with that, Gerard brushed it off and followed Frank inside.

Frank began to shiver a little at the sight of his childhood home: the interior redone a little, but it was still very much the same place, and it still held very much the same solemn tone.

"What would like to drink?" She asked as they made it into the living room.

"Coffee would be fine, a little bit of milk, no sugar." Frank answered, suddenly caring intensely about coffee, but really anything to block out this place from his mind; he didn't need powers like Gerard's to see the memories in this place.

"I'm fine without." Gerard smiled at her, sitting down on the sofa beside Frank.

"Are you sure?" She stressed in that stereotypical motherly tone. "I have water or juice-"

"I'm fine." Gerard insisted, nodding, and with that she finally made her way into the kitchen.

"What can you see?" Frank asked, his tone hushed once Beth had left the room.

Gerard focused hard but still shook his head, "I can't see anything - it's weird, Frank, it really is."

"What about outside? There was clearly something outside." Frank insisted, meeting Gerard's eyes with an odd kind of look.

"Just this figure, but it didn't make much sense at all. Some woman speaking to someone who wasn't there anymore." Gerard let out a sigh, "this place is a place of sorrow, I tell you that." Gerard let out a sigh. "And wherever your father-"

"He's dead." Frank spoke with an odd kind of calmness. "He's dead, I just know it; he wouldn't move, he wouldn't leave this house. He died."

"I'm sorry." Gerard let out a sigh, pulling Frank closer to him. "You've lost everyone now, I'm so fucking sorry-"

"Gerard, it's fine." Frank pulled away a little, "I have you." And the way he said those words made up for the simplicity of them, and in that moment, the two men shared a silent understanding as Beth made her way back into the living room with coffee for Frank and tea for herself.

"Well," she began, placing the drinks down on the coffee table and moving a chair to sit opposite the two men, "I'm sorry, but there's no easy way to say this... your father's dead."

Frank nodded, glancing at Gerard, and watching for his reaction, however Gerard seemed to come to a sudden realisation half way through her sentence, his gaze fixated off elsewhere with an odd kind of unnerving look in his eyes.

"Okay..." Frank let out a sigh, "we weren't... we weren't that close anyway, I mean we didn't speak for ten years or so, and I... he wouldn't leave this place, I guessed that the moment I saw you."

Beth smiled, truly sympathetic for Frank, even if she felt Gerard to be a little odd, "I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't know him, I was just the person that bought this house a couple of months after he'd gone."

"When exactly was it?" Frank asked, ignoring Gerard's odd behavior, and in particular, the way the taller man's eyes fixated upon the door leading into the dining room.

"Last year. Last October, the thirtieth, I think." She shivered a little, "liver failure, they said. He died in a hospital bed. He's buried in the graveyard, I think, if you want to go visit him."

Frank nodded, "I think we'd do that, what do you think, Gerard?" He turned to his boyfriend, but Gerard's face was entirely vacant. "Gerard? What's wrong?"

"Can I just..." He got to his feet, "I'm sorry, Beth, but can I just check something, it's the house, you know?" He stumbled over his words as he spoke, and Frank knew instantly that something was up.

"It's fine, dear, just don't break anything." She let out a half hearted kind of forced laugh, and took a sip of her tea as Gerard made his way through the kitchen and into the dining room, leaving Frank to follow him out of concern.

When Frank made his way inside the dining room, he found Gerard stood with his gaze fixated upon the ceiling fan, a horrified kind of look in his eyes, and with nothing to say for himself.

"Gerard? What's wrong?" Frank exclaimed, his voice perhaps a little too loud, "you're acting weird, you know?"

Beth followed them inside a moment later, following Gerard's gaze, and letting out a laugh, "thing's never worked, no idea why. I've had people look at it, no one can figure out what's wrong with it." She laughed, flicking the switch and showing them that the fan didn't move at all.

Gerard let out a sigh, turning back to Frank and stepping backwards a little; he knew why that fan didn't move.

And in the very same moment he also knew why he couldn't see anything around this house - it had been a case of one thing, being so strong, strong enough to block out the rest.

And that thing lay in the form of a man who'd hung himself from the ceiling fan that didn't move anymore; that man was Mr Iero.

-


	21. i love having a plot its so much fun well not for you its quite painful for you

"Gerard, what's going on?" Frank grabbed his boyfriend by the wrist; the two outside Frank's old house, just across the street, and Gerard appeared to be shaking all over, having stormed out of the place only minutes prior, leaving Frank to apologise awkwardly to an old lady he barely knew before running after and attempting to make sense of his boyfriend.

Gerard groaned, turning away from Frank, "we shouldn't have gone here." He cursed, glancing back towards the place, and perhaps getting a glimpse of the figure he'd seen before Beth had appeared, "I should have listened," he added, cursing, "it doesn't make sense though... this place... it's just... it's bad, everything here is bad."

"Well it's not like the home I got abused in is going to be a happy place, is it? What did you expect? I didn't expect much." Frank continued to hold onto Gerard, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to his lips, "it's not like I can help you if you don't explain - I can't see the things you can, and anyway... I thought you said you couldn't see anything for some reason... or were you lying to me?"

"I wasn't lying." Gerard let out a sigh, pulling Frank into his chest, "I just found out why I couldn't see anything else inside that place, I just found out why we shouldn't have gone inside. I saw something in that room. Something horrible."

"What did you see?" Frank pressed on: his tone insistent.

"You ought to know, but I..." Gerard choked out, still shaking a little, "this one, it was just... far more vivid than the rest of the memories and shit I can see... prominent, stronger, and it was effecting your reality too-"

"What do you mean, Gerard?" Frank exclaimed, still holding on tight to his boyfriend's wrist.

"The ceiling fan just wouldn't turn on, but there's nothing physically wrong with it." Gerard reminded Frank, "I could see very fucking easily why it doesn't work," he continued, locking eyes with Frank, "someone had hung themself from there, and I could feel it, that's what's blocking everything else out, or at least I think so. I can never be sure, but we shouldn't have been there in the first place. The woman I saw outside that I thought was talking to someone else, I think she was talking to me."

"What do you mean, Gerard, what the fuck do you-"

"She looked at you, Frank, she looked at you from across the street and told me very specifically not to bring you in there, but I did, didn't I and now I..." Gerard shook his head, her exact words perhaps permanently imprinted upon his brain, "now I don't know what's gonna happen, but I feel like it's not gonna be good."

"Who was it hanging from the ceiling fan?" Frank soon lost all of his patience, his tone growing stern as he met Gerard's eyes.

"Frank..." Gerard trailed off, biting his lip, unsure of how to break this gently or if there was anyway to do so at all. "It was your father."

Frank stood there in silence for a moment, frozen as if he hadn't quite heard Gerard, but from the look in his eyes, Gerard was very certain he had.

"She said... Beth said..." his tone suddenly grew very quiet as he gestured back to the house, "she said... liver failure... why would she lie?"

"I don't know, Frank, I'm sorry, I don't know, I don't know anything at all, I just saw him there." Gerard let out a sigh, "I can try to focus, I mean there must be some more parts of him connected to this town, his grave perhaps? There's lots of things we can try, but I don't know, I don't know if they'll work, I just-"

"He hung himself the night before my birthday." Frank interjected, his voice shaking a little, "that can't mean nothing... it's my fault, isn't it? I fucked things up-"

"Frank, he fucking abused you and you're gonna-" Gerard cut himself off, simply pulling Frank into his chest, "nothing's your fault," he whispered, changing his approach, "and nothing's for certain. I can promise you that."

"I don't even like him," Frank protested, his words half muffled into Gerard's shirt, "I just... no one should do that, no one... killing yourself, I just... there's always something, someone to live for."

"I'm sorry." Gerard choked out, both sharing the knowledge that suddenly everything was just a whole lot more about Gerard than it was his father. "I'm really sorry."

"At least you're still here, but he... he..." Frank choked out, "there's no goodbye, no apology, no happy ever after, none of that, because I had this stupid idea in my stupid fucking head that maybe he would have changed, gotten better, maybe married another woman, a nice woman, and maybe he would be happy, a nice guy, and maybe we could make it up again. I just wanted everything to be okay, but that's too much to ask, I know that, obviously and... I..."

"He's not stuck drifting, though, he's not connected to someone or something," Gerard began, pulling away from Frank a little, "he's moved on, to wherever's on from here, and he's not stuck relieving memories, in some sort of hell that's half here and and half there. The sidelines aren't a nice place to me, Frank, I'm one of the lucky ones in that you're so understanding, and that we're here, and that I didn't get cremated, because then I really would just be stuck watching you forever. Some people stay like that, some can never contact the person they're connected to. It took me years, remember?"

Frank nodded, grasping his hand. "I know, I just... I..." he turned, glancing over at the forest and the path he'd travelled down far too many times as a teenager, "you know how you can see memories?" Gerard nodded, "can we go to the place we first met? And can you describe it in great detail because I want to relive that one."

"Do you really?" Gerard raised his eyebrows, "I insulted the fuck out of you, I think we even hated each other-"

"We never hated each other, just hormones, we were teenagers, and stupid ones at that." Frank commented, "and well, that clearing, I haven't been there in too long, it's always been a special place for me, until you intruded and fucked my life up but let's ignore that for a moment."

"I'm sorry." Gerard joked, putting his arm around Frank as they headed towards the path, the taller man doing everything he could to focus on anything but the man holding the bleeding body of a woman, carrying her down the very same path they were headed.

-

Gerard's gaze remained fixated upon the man walking just a few paces before them, whereas Frank seemed to drift of in oblivion, his hand in Gerard’s, his feet against the forest floor, but his mind definitely elsewhere.

The forest had hardly changed in ten or so years, only the trees seeming to curl in, and more leaves on the floor left the forest with that forever autumnal feeling, that only seemed to catch Gerard's attention then, because he'd known this wasn't normal, everyone had known that, but he'd never really considered the colours of leaves in a forest until now.

Because it was very obviously not naturally like that, and Gerard came to wonder if there was some other presence around here keeping it as such, in fact, it was almost as if the forest itself had been frozen and preserved for entirety, just like this in Autumn, destined to always be as such.

Gerard found himself stumped as to quite what he was supposed to think of it, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that nothing in Jersey was as it seemed, and the forest was most certainly no exception, and with that, his curiosity seemed to grow, as he wondered what lay underneath the surface of the rest of the world he knew so well; he wondered what was of his own home, he wondered what was of the graveyard especially: hundreds, thousands even of spirits, of souls, of memories, of worlds and lives forgotten and lost, pushed six feet under ground as if that would wipe them completely off Earth, but it wasn't like that.

Gerard knew as he watched the man hold the woman's body that it really wasn't like that.

Gerard knew as they too walked towards the clearing that this was something, that this was everything, and in that in the same way, he most definitely could not tell Frank that a man was about to bury a woman in this very forest. Of course, as to quite who they were, Gerard was uncertain, but it was just blatantly obvious that they were indeed important, significant somehow, and he saw the spirits more vividly now, the forest light seeming to reflect off them, and he knew that in this clearing was where they were meant to be seen.

The two stopped just before one of the larger trees, the man seeming to freeze in position, and Gerard trembled a little as he felt Frank guiding him forward, unknowingly closer, because perhaps Gerard just didn't want to know what became of this woman and the man who found himself burying her.

"What's wrong?" Frank asked, noticing the way Gerard seemed to tense up, refusing to move any closer to the man and the woman dead in his arms.

"It's..." Gerard didn't even know what kind of lie he could fill this gap with, simply turning away and pulling Frank into another corner of the clearing. "It's nothing." He said, forcing a smile, and sitting down on the floor with Frank beside him.

"Can you see something?" Frank asked, attempting to follow Gerard's gaze and the glances he kept taking towards the man, but of course, Frank saw nothing in his place.

"It doesn't matter." Gerard shrugged it off, pulling Frank closer into his side, but as he did so, turning away, there was a thud as the man dropped the woman's body onto the ground. Gerard flinched in response to the sound, that again, Frank just couldn't hear.

"Gerard, there's clearly something there-" Frank protested, now getting to his feet and fixating his gaze upon that spot. "Just fucking tell me-"

"It's..." Gerard choked out, shaking his head, "it's not a nice thing, and it's just some people, not important, you don't need to know, you don't need to see."

A shovel appeared in the man's hands and he approached the larger tree, beginning to dig what was undoubtedly a grave for the woman laying on the ground just a couple of feet away.

"I don't fucking care what you think, you can't just keep secrets from me all the time, Gerard, you know, I'd tell you if I could see these things-"

"Frank, it's different, you don't understand, it's different. When you see them first hand you sort of get used to it, but you don't... it's complicated." Gerard shook his head, "it's just, it's just a man, he's there, he's digging a grave-"

"A grave?" Frank exclaimed, "what for? Who for?"

Gerard sighed, "a woman, she tripped back out on your road, cracked her skull open, she's covered in blood, bleeding everywhere, there's blood on his clothes too. He picked her up and took her here; they were in front of us all the time as we walked."

"And why didn't you tell me?"

"You don't need to know the details of every awful thing I've seen." Gerard let out a sigh, pressing a kiss to Frank's forehead, "I think the memory's going to end soon anyway, just when she's in the grave, I think."

Gerard watched as he picked her up before letting her body drop into the relatively shallow grave he'd dug for her. He let out a sigh, pushing the dirt back in over her, before pushing his shovel into the dirt beside her, and with that, fading away.

"He's gone now." Gerard added, "it's all gone now, it's fine, Frank-"

Frank however wasn't listening in the slightest, and was in fact running across to that very spot, and reaching out to touch the shovel, still stuck in the dirt, "I can see that," he said, almost as if he couldn't quite believe it, "the shovel," he turned to Gerard, who followed him over to the spot, biting his lip as he looked between the shovel and Frank, and then found his eyes drifting down to the ground beneath their feet. "Is here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, "it is."

"I mean, I was here, this very spot even, so many fucking times as a teenager, and I, I never saw this shovel, this is different, what's going on? Why was it left here?" Frank exclaimed, "it's not like I can dig up a memory."

"Frank," Gerard reached out, putting his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder, "she is, the woman, she is under us right now."

"Fuck-" Frank exclaimed, stepping back from the spot in horror, "how long has she been here? I've stood here, I've fucking stood on a dead woman's grave, I-"

"I don't know, Frank, I really don't." Gerard pulled Frank into him for a hug, holding him close for a moment as he ran the rest of the clearing through his mind, finding perhaps anything else for them to focus upon.

However, every other memory in the clearing appeared as little more than a flicker of light, a snapshot for a second: bright red hair and a cigarette, and a younger boy, smiling up at the redhead like he meant the world, but only for a second, flickering out like static: nothing in comparison to the now very real shovel in the dirt beside them.

It was perhaps only then that Gerard came to realise just how greatly the bad overshadowed the good, and how that rang just as true in all reflections of this world.

"I love you." Gerard uttered into Frank's shoulder, kissing him again, "I love you." He repeated himself, his tone a little louder this time, and as Frank held onto him a little tighter in response, the redhead and the shorter boy seemed to flicker into focus.

And the younger version of Frank looked up at the younger Gerard and smiled, letting out an 'I love you too' that seemed to echo throughout the trees.

"I can see us, right behind you, don't move, though," Gerard whispered into Frank's ear, "this memory is hard to focus on, but it's a nice one. You just told me that you loved me too and I'm standing there looking at you like some pretentious dickwad."

"That sounds about right," Frank muttered, pulling away from Gerard's chest a little, "I wish I could see, this sounds like a nice thing to see, but I guess you get the bad and the good, don't you?"

"The bad always seems to be stronger," Gerard admitted, holding onto Frank's hand as the younger version of himself leaned in for a kiss. "I hate that."

"Do you think that shovel means anything?" Frank asked, holding his breath as he waited for some form of response.

"What do you mean?" Gerard glanced back at the shovel, focusing upon it, and in that moment letting go of the redhead and the eighteen year old. "Fuck, I... the nice memory's fucking gone now, fucking wonderful."

"Hey, Gee, it's fine," Frank let out a sigh, kissing his boyfriend, "We've still got the memories in our heads, haven't we? It's not like it's lost forever."

"Yeah, it's just weird when you have all these memories laid out before you, and it's weird to think that everything you do, if it makes an impact on the world, or someone, other people like me could see it some day." Gerard let out a sigh, holding Frank closer, "I hope someone goes to that house one day, and sees these two people, so fucking in love, a modern day Romeo and Juliet, except one of us has already died, and one of isn't going to die for a long time now."

"Yeah," Frank smiled a little, "you can be Juliet, you'd look so much better in a dress. Gerliet-"

"Stop." Gerard shook his head in disbelief, "Frank Iromeo..." he laughed at that, "I should really just shut the fuck up, shouldn't I?"

"You can do whatever you what, Gerliet-"

"Fucking stop." Gerard let go of Frank's hand, jumping a little at the flicker of light beside the shovel: a silhouette, a figure, a flicker of something else there, but as he approached it, it faded back out into nothing.

"Gee?" Frank asked, following his boyfriend back across the clearing.

"Just thought I saw something, but there's nothing there, of course there's nothing there." He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he brushed his hair away from his face.

"Of course?" Frank raised his eyebrows at that. "You see things all the time, and they're usually there, aren't they? Tell me what you saw."

"Just this figure, just there, beside the tree, just for a moment, I think it really was the light, I mean, when I see memories, I feel something you know, you feel it, but this was kind of different."

"If you say so." Frank shrugged, turning away, "I think we should get out of here, you know? It's... it's just, you know? We should get back to the house-"

"Frank." Gerard exclaimed, pulling his boyfriend back to face the grave, "the figure's there now. For real."

"You wish he could see me too." The figure spoke in the same way, into Gerard's mind like before.

And Gerard focused a little before responding, "can he not hear you? If you speak into his mind too?"

"The living don't have clear minds like we do, but I can try, I'm just not sure he'll hear me."

"Frank?" Gerard held onto his boyfriend's hand, speaking aloud this time, "I need you to trust me for a moment, try and clear and like open up your mind, and focus and listen, but not with your ears with your mind, it's hard to explain, just trust me."

"Gerard, I don't-" Frank was cut off as his eyes widened, a voice seeming to echo, a little distorted around his head, but it was distinctly foreign from his own.

"That was easier than I expected, you really trust each other." The figure now spoke to both their minds, and Frank was still low key freaking the fuck out.

"Gerard, what's-" He spoke aloud only to be cut off.

"I'm the figure, you can't see me, but Gerard wanted to try this." The figure spoke again, "I think you might understand me better anyway, you seemed to get it. He doesn't. You know why the shovel's there."

Frank nodded, reaching for the shovel and glancing at Gerard as he began to shift the dirt.

"Frank?" Gerard exclaimed, reaching out for the smaller man, "you can't just-"

"There's a reason I can see this shovel, don't you think?" Frank continued to shovel the dirt, "I just feel, I just feel something... and I don't know what it is, but I have to do this."

Gerard stepped back, shaking his head and searching for the figure, but to no avail as he watched Frank shift the dirt until the body was visible, in fact, he'd stopped watching, only knowing Frank had found the body as he let out a muffled kind of gaspy scream, and of course, Gerard practically leapt to his side at that point.

Gerard's eyes widened, recognising the body instantly: it bearing the very same face as the figure, who had stood before them, and outside Frank's house, however, he couldn't quite voice this discovery as Frank seem to grab desperately for Gerard's side, his palms sweaty and his voice shaking as he pushed some form of explanation out.

"That's my mum."

And Gerard stood frozen, in astonishment and disbelief as Frank clutched onto his side, sobbing desperately.

-


	22. Ryan Breaks His Bathtub And Brendon Struggles To Figure Out Why And How

"Fuck." Gerard choked out, pulling Frank into his arms, the two just standing there, holding one another tighter than was entirely necessary for what felt like years, but was still never long enough, because Frank reckoned that things would never be okay again, or at least not like they were before.

He moved his head from Gerard's chest, just taking one more glance at his mother, lying there in the dirt, and regretting it instantly as more tears began to stream down his face; he could barely process this at all, because all his life his father had told him that his mother had died of cancer, and she _had_ had cancer, but it was becoming increasingly evident that it wasn't the cancer that had killed her, and he bit his lip as he remembered his father telling him he was too young to go to the funeral or visit her grave, every time, every year that he asked him until Frank just eventually stopped asking.

In a way, the forest had become the place in which he came think about her, his mind always full of the memories from when he was little kid and she'd taken him out there; he'd always felt safe there, like someone was protecting him, like the forest itself was perhaps, and really all this fucking time he'd been walking on top the very ground his mother was buried in.

He choked out a sob, "I..." He struggled to say something, _anything_ , fuck, he just wanted, just _needed_ Gerard to talk at him, to say anything he could believe, bullshit like this would all be okay, but it wouldn’t, there was no fucking way anything would be the same anymore.

And it was in that moment that Frank came to realise that he hated his father for being dead so he could go and kill the guy himself, because it was evident the bastard had more to do with this and he would like people to know about, and then there was of course the constant lying and stream of bullshit, and fuck, it had been like he didn't even care at all: no remorse, no nothing, just alcohol and selfishness, because he couldn’t fucking deal with the fact that his wife had gotten cancer; he'd blamed her, and once she was gone, he'd blamed Frank, and once Frank was gone, once Frank was finally gone, Mr Iero had begun to blame himself.

And Frank wanted to say that the guy deserved this, but as his mind flashed through images of his father hanging from the ceiling fan, of his father ready to end his fucking life, he couldn't stomach it, he couldn't stomach it at all.

He gripped Gerard tighter, his fingers digging into the point that they would hurt, but Frank couldn't let go of Gerard at all, because realisation hit him in the form of the fact that Gerard was the only person he really had left, and still, Gerard had killed himself, his father had killed himself, and his father had killed his mother.

And everyone had lied to him about it, lied to him about everything, and it wasn't cushioning the blow, or even prolonging it, it was just ensuring it hurt ten times worse when the truth _inevitably_ came out.

Frank continued to cry into Gerard's chest for a good ten minutes, not a single word transferred between the two, because fuck, Gerard didn't know what to say at all, and Frank reckoned he really could not stop crying.

Until things began to click together in Gerard's mind, that was, "Frank," he began, running his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, "there's something you probably should know."

Frank bit his lip, pulling away just enough so he could see Gerard's face, "tell me." He demanded, certain of it, certain of the fact that he wasn't letting anyone lie to him anymore; he wanted the truth, he wanted all of it, because he couldn't believe he'd spent all his fucking life believing his mother had died of cancer, that the bastard he'd called a father had been innocent in all of this.

"The spirit," he began, wondering how Frank could possibly react, "the one you spoke to, she's not here anymore, but, she was the same spirit that spoke to me outside your house, the one I didn't listen to, and that spirit, she was your mother."

And Frank's jaw actually dropped, his eyes widening, glancing around, desperate, wondering just where the fuck she could have gone, because he needed to speak to her now, more than he had _ever_ done. "Where the fuck is she?" Frank yelled, glancing back down at the grave, "she was fucking here all this time, and she never fucking did or said _anything_ and she just let me live with him, with what he'd done to her, having _killed_ her, even if not directly, but it was fucking _his_ fault."

"Frank, please, calm down, baby, please," Gerard let out a sigh, pressing a kiss to Frank's forehead, "Frankie, please, don't be angry at her, I don't think any sixteen year old kid wants to hear from the ghost of their mother detailing the atrocities their father had committed."

"But she never fucking... she never... said _anything_... did _anything_ at all..." Frank choked out, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Frankie, maybe she couldn't reach out to you, I couldn't for a long time either." He paused, looking up at the forest around them, "and she did something, of course she did, I think I've figured it out now, this forest, she's connected more to this place than an actual person. You said you always felt safe here, I think she's the reason why, and in a way, she did indeed watch you grow up and watch over you. And the forest always still like this: golden leaves, like a state of perpetual autumn, that must be her."

"She used to bring me here as a kid in the autumn and-" Frank choked out, starting to cry again. "Fuck, it makes sense now. Can she see us and hear us now?"

"I don't know, I mean sometimes we can tune ourselves out of reality, but I reckon she'd wanted to be here for you right now." Gerard glanced around one more time, spotting a figure, just momentarily, stood at the tree line, before she disappeared once more.

Frank pulled away a little, wiping his eyes, and biting his lip as he found himself daring to glance at the grave once more, "what do we do with her? I don't want to just leave her here in the fucking grave _he_ dug for her!"

"Frank, what else are we supposed to do, we can't just carry your mother's dead body across town, anyway, I think she belongs here in the forest, I don't even know if she'd be able to appear as a spirit if she was elsewhere." Gerard glanced at Frank, "I think she wouldn't mind talking to you, but another day, I think this is way too much for one day, okay?"

Frank nodded, turning away and trying his best not to cry as Gerard did his best to cover her body back up with the dirt.

-

Frank was rather quiet for the rest of that day and the next, sitting down in the downstairs room of the house with the massive window, and simply staring at the world outside, letting the rest of the world live on as he continued to dwell in his own head, simply stumbling around in circles as he did all he could to attempt to make sense of things.

Part of him still couldn't quite believe that this was all real - that she'd been here all the time, that she'd been watching over him all that fucking time, dear god, this meant she'd seen Gerard, bitchy red haired Gerard who had been a massive dick to him, fuck, she'd seen him and Gerard... Frank came to realise that his mother had actually seen _everything_ he'd done with Gerard Way in that forest.

And at that point he really began to question his sanity, and how his mother could really still love him, because well, him and Gerard hadn't just spoken to one another in that forest - they'd done a hell of a lot more than that, in fact.

And as much as the thought truly horrified Frank, it also seemed to vaguely amusing, because in a way, this was all heartbreaking, but still there was a good side to everything and he reckoned he was only learning that now: he found his mother's body, but now he can speak to her again, his father hung himself, but he'll never have to deal with him again, Gerard killed himself, but none of this would have ever happened if he hadn't done so.

Frank wondered what would have happened if Gerard had kept living on from that day; he reckoned they would have just stayed in Jersey and the biggest concerns in Frank's life would have been Bert McCracken and a vaguely fucked up boyfriend - it would have been much simpler, but Frank would honestly have never traded it for the world.

Or he reckoned so at least, as he continued to stare out at the world, at the forest, at New Jersey in the wintertime, and how this was easily the best January of his life, the only one to ever hold any significance, of course, and it was odd how significance had come in the form of Frank reckoning he was going mad, and getting nightmares and going back home to find his father dead and his mother's body. But still, Frank was in the best place now he'd been ever.

And that place was with Gerard, this Gerard, who seemed to genuinely care, the Gerard who'd learned from his mistakes, because this was the Gerard who'd finally fucked up in a way he couldn't undo, and all he'd ever been was bright hair and ego, all about himself and without a care in the world - it was different now; he was aging, if not physically then mentally.

"You alright?" Gerard asked, making his way into the room and sitting beside Frank, the shorter man coming to notice the sketchpad in Gerard's hands as he'd sat down beside him.

"Mmm..." Frank nodded, his gaze fixated upon the sketchpad and the drawing upon the page it was opened to. "Is this old stuff or were you drawing?" He continued to ask, gesturing as he spoke.

Gerard followed his gaze back to sketchpad and moved it so it was in front of the both of them, "this is new, I just had this uncontrollable urge to draw this scene, it's weird, but I guess inspiration doesn't exactly come in the most orthodox forms. I think it turned it pretty good as well, don't you think?"

"Gerard, of course it's amazing, you drew it." Frank exclaimed in what was easily the corniest tone known to man as he leaned forward and began to examine his boyfriend's work.

The piece was drawn entirely in pencil, but even with pencil lines and minimal amounts of shade you could make out the scene depicted: a view from a window, to a tree line, and a garden perhaps, covered with so many flowers.

"Didn't think you were one for flowers." Frank commented, a small smile upon his face.

Gerard shrugged a little, "don't know where this came from, I told you that, but they're the daffodils in the spring, I think this is like April, and it's kind of warm but it's raining, and, I don't know, it's just so beautiful and vivid in my head."

"Maybe you should paint this? Do it full colour?" Frank suggested, leaning back a little, "we could buy some paint," he offered, smiling.

"Nah," Gerard shrugged it off, "not that important, just some flowers, come on, Frank, they're flowers, not everything's fucking significant."

"I'm not saying they're significant, I'm saying that they're pretty and I think they'd look beautiful if you painted them. I'm not saying you _have_ to, of course I'm not saying that." Frank put his arm around Gerard, pulling him in closer, "I just like your artwork, you ass, am I not allowed to do that?"

"Of course not." Gerard retorted, laughing a little, tearing the page from his sketch book and pinning it to the wall of the house, beside the window, beside the shit they'd written in the dust upon it: still there, as if it may stay there forever. "See, this looks pretty too. Art doesn't have to be fucking oil paintings, Frank, this is just as beautiful in its own right."

"Yeah, okay, you can stop being a pretentious motherfucker now." Frank let out a laugh as he got to his feet, making his way over to the window and setting his gaze on the world outside, "I can't believe she was watching over me all this time."

"Of course she was: she's your mother, Frank, she _loves_ you." Gerard pressed a kiss to the back of Frank's neck as he slid his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "As was I, because I love you too. You know, people just can't get away from you, Frankie."

"Yeah," he let out a sigh, "fucking hope my dad isn't watching over me, you know?"

"He's not." Gerard promised him, "I could tell if he was, and if he fucking dared, I don't even know what ghosts can do to each other, but he would not have a happy afterlife, I tell you that."

Frank smiled a little, watching the sun shine through the trees, watching the world tick on by, finding his mind back in New York temporarily, back in his old life, thinking of Brendon and Ryan and the mess he must have made for them as he'd left. "I think I should call Brendon again."

Gerard nodded, "yeah, you should, you need to keep in contact with them. They're you're friends and when you go back to New York, it's gonna be a bit awkward if you haven't spoke to them in ages."

"I don't think we will go back to New York." Frank admitted, grabbing his cellphone and texting Brendon a ' _hey_ '.

"I don't know if I can, honestly, you know, I've been thinking, the way everything seemed to just feel better, as we came here, how I became stronger, I've been thinking about the reverse, because there's two sides to everything, and I don't know what's going to happen if I try and go back. It's a lot harder for me to stay with you when I'm there, and you know I'm not used to it anymore."

"Did you just consider me going back without you?" Frank exclaimed, absolutely horrified with the notion, "are you fucking stupid? Why would I do that? Can you even leave my side anyway?"

"Well, I've been thinking again, I mean you know I've got to do something when you're sleeping so don't blame me if I come up with some shit, but the whole connected to you thing is the matter of staying strong and visible, I mean I still _exist_ without you, I just only exist for myself, if you get what I mean? I reckon I could stay connected to my body, be a typical graveyard ghost if you ever wanted to go back to New York for a bit. I'd be there when you came back, of course, and I could 'connect' to you again, or at least I should be able to, it makes sense like that, because your mother for instance, she's connected to her body, however I think that's down to the fact that she doesn't have a person with a strong enough bond to to connect to."

"Gerard, I don't wanna risk loosing you again, okay, you got that? A phone call is fucking fine, and if Brendon's not happy with that then he can come here and visit us his damn self. At least then you're not gonna have to hold my fucking hand the whole time." Frank laughed a little, shaking his head in disbelief at the memories, "god, how did we ever manage that?"

"I really don't mind holding your hand for excessive amounts of time, you know." Gerard admitted, "the whole body heat thing, for a start, you're warm and I'm stuck being so cold, and when we're really close, I start to feel a little warm, a little as if I'm alive again."

"God, that sounds so fucking corny!" Frank exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "But yeah, it's sweet, but man, you're a pretentious piece of shit."

"You know, doesn't have to be your hand I hold, could have been your dick, could have spent that whole time groping you. Bet you would have liked that better, come on, _admit it_." Gerard smirked, causing Frank to roll his eyes as he walked across the room as he called Brendon. "Oh wow, fucking ignore me, Frankie," Gerard pouted, sitting down in the chair beside the chest of drawers in the corner of the room as he watched Frank speak to Brendon.

"Hey," Frank smiled, feeling better as soon as he heard Brendon's voice, because yeah, he did miss New York, but he could never miss New York as much as he would miss Gerard, and that went without saying.

"How are things without me, you asshole?" Brendon asked, laughing a little as he did so, and dear god, he must have just had sex with Ryan to be in such a fucking good mood, however Frank really didn't want to ask for fear that he'd go into detail, because Brendon was one of those fucking people.

"Alright, Gerard's being lovely as always, it's really beautiful here, cold though, fucking cold." Frank laughed a little, reckoning it was better to leave out all the shit about how his father had hung himself and how he'd buried his mother in the forest, oh and how she was a ghost so Frank would be able to talk to her pretty soon, so everything was alright anyway. Fuck, Frank reckoned Brendon wouldn't even _believe_ him.

"Me and Ryan are doing great without you, hey you'll never guess what, we had to buy a new bathtub last week. Ryan broke it somehow, he won't tell me how, but yeah, the thing broke- oh yeah, me and Ryan live together now, we're doing really good, I really like him you know, thanks for introducing us."

"Your _bathtub_?" Frank exclaimed, trying to even imagine how that could have possibly gone down, but to no avail.

"Yeah, man, Ryan goes red whenever you mention it, so like I doubt I'll be getting any answers any time soon."

"That sucks." Frank continued, catching Gerard’s gaze from across the room: the guy was making a blowjob gesture, because he was actually a five year old.

"You know what else sucks?" Brendon couldn't even stop himself from laughing, " _Ryan_."

"A blowjob joke, the both of you, seriously!" Frank exclaimed to both Brendon and Gerard.

"Tell Gerard he has a great sense of humour." Brendon added, sounding far too smug entirely.

"Frankie, honey, I'm not joking, I'm making a blowjob gesture because I want to give you one." Gerard smirked, getting to feet and making his way across the room.

"Uh yeah, Brendon, sorry I have to go-" Frank stammered out, ending the call before Brendon could even respond: a gesture that had absolutely _nothing_ to do with his asshole of a boyfriend and how he was getting to his knees right then and there.

Absolutely _nothing_ at all.

-


	23. Gerard Nearly Gets Frank Killed Like The Responsible Boyfriend He is

Gerard found himself sat outside the 'house', 'their house', and in fact the notion of it being as such seemed utterly ridiculous in his mind, but it was, for the time being, this place was home, a home he shared with Frank Iero, and perhaps that was all he'd ever wanted.

He found his eyes fixated upon the horizon: sunrise, he hoped Frank wouldn't worry too much when he woke up and found the bed beside him empty - Gerard had just need space, needed the forest more than he'd needed Frank.

He'd taken his sketchbook outside, but found himself simply mesmerised by the drawing he done yesterday: the one of the daffodils in April, as Frank had called it, significant, as Frank had called it.

It seemed special to Gerard too now, but really only because Frank had said it was special to him, and Gerard had seriously become a soppy mess ever since he'd died, and dear god he was well aware of that fact, but he definitely seemed to be fucking up less now, so maybe he'd sacrifice his dignity to be the kind of person that could stick around this time.

Because he knew now certainly that he could never leave Frank alone, because if he did, Frank would be completely _alone_ in this world: no mother, no father, with everyone close to him ending up with a terrible fate: dying before their time, and of course it wasn't Frank's fault, but it was a little as if he was a ticking time bomb or something, something ridiculous.

Ridiculous, that was all it was. Gerard loved Frank, and Frank was just unfortunate.

Gerard had started work on another sketch, having done so a little absent mindedly, this sketch depicting a tree line, a familiar one, the one upon the horizon, and the sun rising, a new day, hope, in the winter, and no snow, there'd been no snow, which was odd, and Gerard had indeed thought it odd, but not really odd enough to mention, you know, with Frank's father hanging himself from the ceiling fan, and Frank finding his mother buried in the forest he'd spent his teenage years in.

Gerard wondered just how much of their relationship Mrs Iero had shown; he fucking hoped she'd looked away when things got a little less PG-13, because well, that'd be kind of awkward when it came to taking Frank to talk to her. God, he wondered what she could possibly think of him, because she had to have a good idea of who he was.

Gerard let out a sigh, finding this all so fucking trivial, because suddenly his biggest worry in the world was what his boyfriend's mother thought of him, and he, _technically_ , was thirty two. Thirty fucking two, dear god, it almost made him glad he'd died and stopped ageing, because yeah, twenty two wasn't a bad age to stay forever.

Sure, it'd get a little weird when Frank started growing older, but he kind of had a baby face so they'd be good for a while, and if they made it longer than a decade or so, then he guessed they'd have to start saying that Frank was his sugar daddy, and really Gerard wasn't nearly as opposed to that idea as he would make himself out to be... if they ever got that far, of course.

And Gerard could hope, and Gerard would hope that they'd last forever, and hope was certainly strong, but when faced with the harsh brutality of life and hardship, hope was just hope.

And one day Frank was going to die.

Gerard swallowed hard at the notion of that; he couldn't imagine standing there, forever connected to Frank's _body_ , watching as the man he loved was buried six feet underground.

He wondered where they could go from there, he wondered how death would fare Frank, whether he'd end up clinging on to this world, like Gerard had, and whether they'd find each other in death again, or whether Gerard would be stuck there, connected to a body, an empty shell that man he loved had departed from, and had moved onto heaven or hell or whatever was on from here, because Gerard quite honestly didn't know if he'd ever find out.

"Hey?" Gerard jumped a little at an all too familiar voice, his boyfriend making his way around the front of the house and sitting down on the grass beside him. "You alright?" He continued to ask, noting the somewhat distant look in Gerard's eyes, but of course, Gerard wasn't just going to tell Frank how he'd been thinking about the inevitability of his death, because although the afterlife did kind of suck, at least Gerard had immortality on his side.

"Yeah, course." Gerard forced a smile, letting Frank glance at his sketchpad, his eyes flickering over the image and then back up to the horizon and the forest upon it.

"You should draw more often: I like your art." Frank smiled: a genuine smile, leaning into his boyfriend's side, watching as Gerard added a few more pencil lines around the drawing, perhaps just to keep himself busy in the silence as he did all he could to rid himself of thoughts of Frank's death.

"Yeah, I mean, I can now, but before, I couldn't really draw, back in New York, I wasn't strong enough back there, I don't think I even would have been able to properly hold a pencil without you being close to me, and then you'd have to let me like sit on your lap if I didn't want to give myself a headache concentrating myself. It's much less of a strain just to _exist_ , you know, here." Gerard let out a sigh, putting his pencil down.

"It's a strain to exist?" Frank exclaimed, his eyes widening a little in concern for Gerard.

"Not excessively for the most part, but you know, when you're alive, you belong here, you're a part of this world, but I'm dead, I don't belong here anymore, I just can't let go, and it's clinging on... it's like a cliff, and you and all the other alive people are stood on top, and the ocean below is wherever the dead are 'supposed' to go, and you have your hand over the edge, reaching out to me, and I'm holding on tight to you and this, but I can't ever let go, and say, the further away from the cliff's edge you move, the harder it is to hold onto your hand."

Frank paused for a moment, running the image through his head, "so when I... when I die, when I fall off the cliff, would we both fall into the ocean?"

"I don't know, Frank, I mean I'm connected to my body too, and you could end up connected to someone too, hey, maybe we could end up clinging onto the edge together, or maybe one of us would be clinging on, and the other-"

"No, that wouldn't happen." Frank insisted, "if you 'let go', then so would I. I don't wanna be somewhere where you're not- hey, can you even 'let go'?"

Gerard shrugged, "I don't know, it's not something I've really thought about, but I suppose you could try, you know, get as far away from whatever's linking you to this world as possible, until you just fade out completely."

"Don't you ever _dare_ ," Frank smiled, pressing a kiss to Gerard's cheek, "I can't imagine losing you again."

"Of course not," Gerard let out a sigh, "I'm not going to do that to you again. I can't lose you either, I was just too stupid to realise it before."

-

Frank was nervous, of course he was.

It just wouldn't be quite the same unless he was, and he knew that, and Gerard knew it too as he held on tight to his boyfriend's hand; the forest around them forever autumnal in colour and this time they had the explanation, they had Mrs Iero who'd always been there for her son, they had Mrs Iero who had died at his fault, and no one had ever known.

If Gerard didn't take those pills that day in the forest, Frank might have not ever known, and such a realisation was of course terribly complex to handle, because there were a million things Frank wanted to say to his mother, but he didn't know where to start, he didn't know how to start, he didn't even know how this would work, what would befall of them, and of course, just as to what his mother could possibly think of his boyfriend, which definitely deserved its place on Frank's top list of concerns, no doubt about it.

"What was it like for you with my mother? I mean, it's obviously different, I mean she's not dead, and-"

"Gerard," Frank let out a sigh, forcing a small smile as he looked up at his boyfriend. "It's gonna be fine. Don't tell me you're nervous, because that's not helping, like _really_ not helping." He proceeded to laugh a little.

"I'm meeting your _mother_ , that's a... _thing_ , and oh dear god what can she possibly think of me in regards to what she must have seen in that forest? I mean, I'm nervous because you're nervous, but... _man_..." Gerard continued to cringe, his mind flashing with images of his younger self and Frank, and just how their relationship had gone whilst he was still living, and what Mrs Iero could have possibly seen of it in snapshots, in the scenes that occurred in the forest. "We... did some _things_ in that forest-"

"Gerard, _please_!" Frank exclaimed, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "She's my mother, and dear god I'm so scared of what she could possibly think of me, because she knew me last over twenty years ago, and dear god, what kind of a mess am I now? I mean, I never even got to come out to her, or explain anything, it's just... fuck, how must it be for her? I'm there, and suddenly you're there too and you're this boy I'm in love with, and she can't say anything or do anything, she can't disagree, she can't agree, _nothing_."

"So what?" Gerard raised his eyebrows at that, "you'd rather your mother disagreed with our relationship? Would that somehow make this better?" He continued to laugh a little, "she doesn't disagree, or if she doesn't, I highly doubt it matters in the scheme of things."

"You're right." Frank let out a sigh, smiling as he shook his head, "dear fucking god, why are you always right?"

"I know, I'm just so smart and so handsome, _beautiful_ , a perfect boyfriend - why _wouldn't_ she like me?" Gerard continued to exclaim, leaving Frank shaking his head in disbelief.

"Did I ever tell you about the one girl I dated?" Frank asked, looking up at Gerard.

"What?" Gerard exclaimed, trying to imagine Frank in a straight relationship and failing severely.

"I was like _twelve_. I was, you know, freaked out by this all. I didn't like her, I just felt forced to be interested in girls because everyone else was, you know what I mean?" Gerard nodded, finding his head back in his childhood: a place he'd done a lot to push away, and for reasons he of course wouldn't dare detail. "And so, her name was Molly, well I guess that still _is_ her name, but. Molly, and we were twelve and she told me she'd be my girlfriend if I went with her to the cinema as her date so she could look cool in front of her ex-boyfriend- _Twelve_ ," Frank reiterated, "Gerard, we were _twelve_."

"I know," he continued, laughing his fucking head off, "I'm just having excessive trouble imagining that anyone would ever think of you as someone to make them look cool."

Frank narrowed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, "fuck, you're such an asshole."

"Mmm..." Gerard nodded, grasping Frank's hands and pressing a kiss to his lips, "you love me, though."

"Yeah," Frank admitted, a small smile upon his lips as he pulled away. "Me and Molly broke up because her friend thought I was gay. Fucking Becky."

"Becky was right," Gerard laughed a little, "tell Becky she's a smart girl, intuitive- _gaydar_!"

"Oh fuck _off_!" Frank shook his head in disbelief, the two coming to silence as they spotted the clearing ahead, and knew what lay inside, who, and just what was about to occur.

"You're scared: I can feel it." Gerard turned to Frank, "don't be, she _loves_ you."

Frank grasped Gerard's hand for support as the two made their way into the clearing, and Gerard began to focus upon the tree line, doing all he could to make out a figure: her, of course, and then practically burning himself out with the act of focusing upon her.

"Can you see her?" Frank asked, glancing around and becoming somewhat of a nervous mess in the silence that followed.

"Mm..." Gerard nodded, giving Frank's hand a squeeze as he felt the figure- Frank's mother, make her way out into the sunlight.

She gestured towards her body and Gerard nodded, understanding instantly, and proceeding to lead Frank across the clearing, towards his mother's grave, which was something the shorter man didn't exactly understand, but what he didn't understand he made up for with his trust in Gerard, which was almost unnervingly unbreakable in nature, and it was most definitely either the best or the worst thing about his existence.

"It's easiest if I just speak through you, Gerard, like a medium," She began, speaking into Gerard's head.

Gerard nodded, glancing at Frank, who still appeared overall quite baffled in regards to what could possibly be happening that he just couldn't quite see. "She's going to speak through me, like a medium, she can hear you but you won't be able to hear her."

"Okay." Frank nodded, following Gerard's gaze to the figure, " _god_ ," he began, biting his lip, "so, mum, I love you and that I apologising profoundly for anything at all I may have done that you're even slightly offended by."

Gerard laughed a little, pulling Frank into his side, and feeling him shudder a little.

"Tell him, I love him too, and that he's done nothing wrong and that I'm so sorry I left him with that monster of a man he had to call a father." Gerard bit his lip, pausing for a moment and thinking in response to what she'd said; he hated how he'd been able to leave Frank with that man sometimes.

He relayed her words to Frank, watching as he nodded a little, beginning to cry. "I'm so sorry you had to die, I'm sorry it ended up like this. Is there anything you want us to do for you?"

"No, of course not, Gerard," she met Gerard's eyes directly with the next part, "you look after him, I'm trusting you to do so, but I can tell, I can feel that you love him. You won't let him go."

"No." Gerard stumbled, speaking aloud instead of in his mind, and causing Frank to raise his eyebrows in disbelief, because he certainly hadn't expected that his own fucking mother would be having her own little private conversation with his boyfriend, but she totally was, because in a way, there was nothing all that different about this.

This was just Frank taking his boyfriend to meet his mother, and they had an awful lot in common: being dead just happened to be one of those things.

And Frank let out a sigh, holding on tight to Gerard's hand, and nearly having a heart attack as he did so: a figure stood just a few feet away beginning to flicker.

"Fuck, you can-" Gerard didn't take long to make sense of the situation, looking between Mrs Iero and Frank and focusing a little harder as he grasped Frank's hand. "I didn't know this could happen, I-"

"You two have a very strong bond, it's... unbelievable." She began, her eyes finding their way to Frank's, and for the twenty eight year old, it seemed like the whole world had stopped: everything no longer relevant, because the woman before him: pale and half translucent in nature, was indeed his mother, and he loved her so much.

"I love you." Frank choked out, tears streaming down his chests as he bit his lip, never daring to pull his gaze away from his mother's, perhaps fearing that she might suddenly fade away into nothingness.

"I love you too, Frankie." She whispered, her voice instantly soothing, and _fuck_ , that name, that fucking name.

Frank's eyes opened wide and suddenly the world around him filled with light: echoes and voices roaming throughout his mind, memories in living form - a little boy and a young woman, in this very forest, one autumn, back when everything was alright with the world.

Frank suddenly blinked, the images pulled almost forcefully away from him, leaving him stood, grasping onto Gerard desperately as his head began to spin with a great velocity.

" _Frank_?" Gerard exclaimed, grasping Frank tighter with concern.

"I don't think exposing him to me is a good idea." Mrs Iero continued, "he's not supposed to see me... it sounds horrible, but it's damaging him, you can feel it, can't you?"

Gerard nodded, biting his lip in regret as he pulled his focus away from Frank's mother, and in response the spirit seemed to drift away, back into the tree line, but this time Gerard couldn't think to watch her go, desperately fixated upon his boyfriend and the tears in his eyes.

"Fuck, Frank, I-" He stuttered out, pulling Frank into his chest, "are you okay, baby? Please tell me you're okay? Maybe we shouldn't have done this so soon, I-"

"I saw..." Frank trailed off, rubbing his eyes, and resisting the urge to vomit as the world around him continued to spin, "I was little and me and her were here, in the forest, the two of us happy, I saw it... I saw it... like... everything was so bright and it was _drowning_ out everything, fuck, I think I stopped breathing, I-"

"Fuck," Gerard cursed, holding Frank tighter, "I must have channeled it to you... you're not strong enough to deal with these kinds of energies, well, maybe strong's not the right word, you're a very strong person, Frank, I just..."

"I'm alive... and I..." Frank sat down on the floor, his head still spinning a little as Gerard joined him, "you saw that, you got that memory from my head, because we were focused and we were connected and you channeled it back to me and I feel like you nearly exploded my brain!" Frank exclaimed, laughing a little.

"I think we should have just stuck to speaking through me." Gerard continued, glancing around the clearing, "I can't see her anymore-"

"Is she alright, I didn't... I didn't _hurt_ her, I-"

"No, Frank, of course you didn't," Gerard explained, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead, "I can still feel her, she's still, I think the moment she ever faded away, we'd know: this forest would begin to decay around us: the leaves would rot away, it'd be cold and gloomy just like the rest of the world."

"I don't think the world's so cold and gloomy." Frank continued, pressing his head into Gerard's side, "not when you're around."

"Yeah, not when I'm around to nearly get you killed, or god, I don't _know_ what could have happened to you. I mean, I don't know much about this stuff, I just think a lot: it's all just theories, really, a lot of them just happen to have some logic to them."

"Theories," Frank raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "why do I trust you?"

"Why _do_ you? Indeed..." Gerard trailed off, biting his lip, "I really don't think I'd trust myself, you know?"

"Whether I trust you or not, is really _not_ up for you to decide," Frank insisted, glancing around the clearing once more, before getting to his feet, making a grab fro Gerard's hand, "I think maybe we should try this again tomorrow or something, I still feel a little dizzy. Are you alright, Gee, I mean, surely like _channeling-_ "

"You're forgetting again, Frankie, I don't feel a thing!" Gerard exclaimed, laughing it off, because somehow this was their normal now, this was the happiest Frank had ever been, and if that didn't make him insane then he didn't know what did.

Well, that or the fact that he'd stopped taking his medication a _long_ time ago.

-


	24. Gerard Is Disappointed To Discover That He Isn't Jesus

The first thing he saw was a man; a man who found himself staring at it again.

That room.

_His_ room.

It had been his, a long time ago.

It wasn't anymore.

The place was familiar but Frank couldn't place as to how; he couldn't move, he could only watch: eyes fixated upon a figure he didn't quite recognise, as the figure stared at the room - a closed door, a door he didn't dare open.

Frank stared too, and felt himself sick to his stomach as he did so.

Because consciously, he didn't have the slightest clue as to what this all meant, but the sinking feeling was proof that his subconscious was more than well informed, and perhaps even just protecting him from the truth.

And just like that, Frank was scared, and he didn't quite know why.

He felt safe, in an odd way, but one he didn't think to question, as the man he'd been watching stepped away from the door and let out a sigh, shaking his head as if to himself, and staring right past Frank as if he wasn't really there.

And Frank began to doubt that he was for a moment.

"Fuck," the man spoke aloud; his face somewhat blurred and turned away from Frank, rendering him unrecognisable in the frozen state Frank found himself in.

"Hello?" Frank called out to the man, well attempted to, but his words seemed to fade out as he pushed them out, creating little more than a muffled whisper, and in fact, the man didn't even look up, and Frank was left confused, but somehow calm, as the man continued to curse to himself and glance back at the door - he even looked close to crying.

"Why?" Was the first non curse word he uttered, speaking to no one, or perhaps himself as he leaned back against the wall, tapping his foot out of what Frank assumed to be anxiety and nerves.

Frank wished he could he could communicate somehow: nothing seemed to make sense, and in fact, he seemed to find himself coming to realise that this place couldn't be real, that this all couldn't be real, because the guy would have to be able to see him, and he began to wonder if this was just some kind of fucked up dream.

However, he found himself hesitant to believe such a thing; he hadn't had a dream of any sort since leaving New York and he really wasn't keen to have another, but at its current point, whatever Frank found himself baring witness to in that moment seemed pretty harmless, but well, everything seemed as such at first.

But if this was a dream, he no longer found himself caring for the man and who he was, and the door and what could be behind it, his mind revolving solely around the matter of waking up, of getting back to reality, of opening his eyes in the bedroom in that house, 'their house', and rolling over in bed and seeing him, seeing Gerard.

Because for Frank, nothing was real, and nothing was okay until Gerard said it was.

"Why?" The man choked out for a second time, before getting to his feet and making his way downstairs, and it was at that point, that instead of following him, Frank's vision faded out entirely.

He found himself accompanied by nothing but black for a good minute: a low hum like buzz of sound in the background, until he managed to push his eyelids open, until he managed to let the light in and 'wake up'.

He sat up in bed, his eyes wide, shuddering a little all over, and glancing across towards the window: guessing the time to be something like six am from the amount of light coming in.

"What's wrong, Frankie?" Gerard asked, stirring in bed next to him, reaching for Frank, having been alerted by the sudden change of emotions in Frank: the increase in his heartbeat, and the way he couldn't quite get enough oxygen to his brain. "I can feel it, there's something wrong, I-"

"I had a _dream_." Frank exclaimed, stumbling out of bed and nearly tripping as he did so. "A _dream_. I haven't had a dream since New York." He continued, his heart pounding in his chest as he sat down on the windowsill, glancing out at the sun, at the forest, at the world, at the place he called home, and then to Gerard, as the black haired man made his way over to him.

"Fuck," He stammered out, unsure quite what to say - what to tell Frank to make it all better, or if he even could. "Was it like... _bad_? What happened? It'd help me understand if you did, but of course, you don't have to."

"It didn't make much sense, it wasn't necessarily bad. I was just watching this guy stood outside a door, and he started crying before walking down some stairs - it made no fucking sense, but it's just the fact that it's a _dream_. I'm just scared they'll get bad again, I'm just scared it'll get how it was again, because I can't fucking handle that."

"I don't understand why it would." Gerard added, putting his arm around Frank. "Perhaps, I know this sounds stupid, but maybe it's just a normal dream, like how people just have weird dreams sometimes, and you're just oversensitive to dreams because of what happened in the past, so maybe you're just making something out of nothing, because you know, we both feel better here, don't we? You still feel that, don't you?"

Frank turned to the forest outside, exhaling a little, "yeah." He nodded, smiling, reaching for Gerard’s hand, "yeah, I do. I don't know if that's you or this place though," he admitted with a small smile.

"Shut up," Gerard laughed a little, brushing Frank's hair from his face, and pressing a kiss to his lips, "you gotta stop being so cheesy, Frankie."

"Or what?" Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Or you're gonna _kill_ me, or something," Gerard laughed at that, because he was being an asshole, and he knew it.

"Fuck off," Frank let out a sigh, rolling his eyes, before focusing his gaze back upon the dawn and the forest around them, and in turn, the overwhelming sense that this was home.

However, that sense went hand in hand with the sense that the 'dream' was a little more than insignificant, and the latter of the two senses was one he absolutely could _not_ shake.

-

Gerard had this odd look in his eyes for the duration of the day that followed Frank's dream. Frank put it down to thinking - something Gerard had done very little of when he was alive, and in severe excess in death, not that thinking was necessarily or inherently a bad thing; the simple action of thought and the simple notion of possibilities and explanations made just a little clear did nothing _bad_ , but there was no saying it would necessarily do much good either.

But of course, it mattered little as to what Frank thought of this all; he had no say as to what went on in Gerard's head, and was just left with that vacant look in his boyfriend's eyes as found himself attempting to draw again; he'd been drawing quite a lot more as of late, which was again something Frank had noticed, but not really felt the need to reflect upon - it was just drawing after all, but was anything really as it seemed?

Gerard moved a little closer to Frank; the two men sat upon the sofa in the downstairs room with the massive window, Gerard with his sketchbook upon his lap and a pencil in his hand, and Frank with an empty coffee mug, having finished the drink it had once held something like two hours ago, but with Gerard, in this odd state of thinking and silence, in this forest even, time seemed to pass a little differently: as if it held a little less meaning, and as if it wasn't exactly in shortage, and as if life was a little less more than one great big ticking time bomb.

Frank was only perhaps vaguely subconsciously aware of the aforementioned, still stick in the mindset that everything was as it seemed, that despite the existence of ghosts and this whole new plane of existence - something Gerard had made Frank more than well aware of, everything was as it came to him, and that the possibility of there being something more to this all was incredibly unlikely.

Gerard was however incredibly aware of the way time seemed to differ in this house, and spent a lot of nights pondering over it, in fact. Time wasn't a _different_ kind of time, it was in fact the very same concept, it was just the way it was perceived: relativity and all that nonsense. He was coming to understand that time was far more relative to them in place, rather than being set in stone: a minute perhaps no longer lasting sixty seconds, but the amount of time he took himself to come up with an explanation after Frank confronted him with a problem of sorts.

Gerard wasn't entirely sure what was causing this, as he found himself to be with a lot of the things in life connected to the plane of existence more unfamiliar to him, after all, he wasn't a scientist, barely even an artist, just a guy that never really grew up, just a guy that didn't quite deserve a second chance, but still he had a head, he had a brain, and he had nights to think, perhaps even too much time to think.

He could conclude that for ghosts, for the things less tethered to life and the world of the living, aging wasn't a matter for concern, and from that he found himself wondering if time applied itself in much the same manner, and somehow, it was the way that the house and the forest were connected to him, and the way that caused the barriers between the world of the dead and the world of the living seemed to crumble a little.

Gerard was also incredibly aware of the fact that he couldn't really talk to Frank about this. The thought of it all and as to what it could possibly mean unnerved him a little, because he felt for sure that things weren't supposed to be like this, and he didn't want to worry Frank with matters that he didn't have to; Frank had lost both his parents and his boyfriend, after all, and Gerard had only lost himself.

Gerard had even been thinking so excessively that he'd found his head pulled away completely from the sketchpad and the pencil held in his hand, and in turn, the sketch appearing upon the paper before him, but it was exactly the act of fixating and focusing upon it that brought him back down and out of his head.

"T-that's..." Gerard had Frank's head snapping up and towards him as he struggled to push any form of explanation out, "t-that's... my..."

Frank had almost drifted off, his eyes widening a little as they met Gerard's, before in turn falling down upon the sketch before him. "Your room, from when... when you were alive."

Gerard nodded, biting his lip, and hating how he found himself immediately unable to make sense of what was before him, "I don't know why I drew that. I wasn't even that aware that I was drawing, I kind of zoned out, you know?"

Frank nodded, linking his fingers with Gerard's, "I kind of zoned out too. It's good, though," he gestured towards the sketch, "the art. I like it. I know it's kind of an uncomfortable part of your head for you, but it's just a sketch and as a sketch, it's great." Frank smiled up at his boyfriend, but Gerard didn’t really seem to care.

"Hmm..." Gerard let out a sigh, getting to his feet and ripping the sketch away from the book, and dropping the sketchbook to the floor. He turned the sketch over in his hands, examining it as if it was some form of significant historical artifact, and not indeed just a sketch of his bedroom as a teenager.

"Are you okay?" Frank found himself daring to ask, struggling to understand what could possibly be going through Gerard's mind, and as to how a sketch of his bedroom could really hold so much significance.

Gerard shrugged a little, not really in response to Frank's question, and more so in response to noise, having heard him but not really _listened_.

"Gerard?" Frank continued, getting to his feet, his eyes widening a little as he felt his head spinning a little, "what's going on?"

"Give me your lighter." Gerard said, his tone firm, suddenly rather sure of himself.

Frank was more than a little confused, but had more faith in Gerard than he really should, and regardless of his inability to make sense of the situation, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his lighter, watching with a fixated gaze as he placed it into the taller man's hand.

Gerard didn't even so much as nod in Frank's direction, before clicking the lighter with his free hand and fucking setting fire to the sketch, which had seriously gotten Frank more confused than he'd ever thought possible.

"Okay, so what the fuck are you doing?" Frank asked, watching as the paper burned away, turning brown and then black in places.

"Burning it." Gerard of course, was exceedingly helpful in his response.

"Yeah, I fucking noticed that," Frank rolled his eyes a little, "but why? Also you might want to put it out before you burn your hand off-"

"Frank, I'm fucking dead, it's fine," He let out a sigh, glancing up at his boyfriend and conveying a non-verbal kind of apology, "I have this bad feeling, and this isn't just me thinking too much, but maybe it is, but maybe what I'm thinking about is making sense."

"And what _are_ you thinking about?" Frank continued to ask, his eyes fixated upon the sketch burning away, and the way the little burst of fire slowly made its way closer to Gerard's hand.

"A fucking hell of a lot of things." Gerard laughed a little, seemingly entirely unfazed by the fire in its entirety.

"Detail, Gerard? Logic, Gerard? Ever fucking heard of them?" Frank asked, before snapping, "oh for fucking god's sake, put the fire out-"

Gerard looked up at him, noting the look in his eyes and in turn the destroyed nature of the sketch  and nodding, dropping it to the floor and and stamping the flames out with his foot, his fucking _bare_ foot.

"I can't feel pain." He reminded Frank for the seven hundredth time, glancing at the bottom of his foot once the fire was out and examining in great interest how the fire, although very real had left no mark at all. "I can't apparently get scars either - this is something I've been thinking about as well."

"What?" Frank exclaimed, seriously struggling to make sense of well _everything_ Gerard was saying.

"Frankie, come on, my foot, no fucking scars at all." Gerard sat back down on the sofa, leaving Frank to follow him.

"Okay, so how and what the fuck?" Frank asked, his eyes widening a little, "I mean, I get that you don't feel pain, but like, you put the fire out, so you were able to touch it, but I don't get how it wasn't able to touch you."

"Maybe I'm Jesus." Gerard offered, laughing a little. "Hey, just a thought: I _could_ be Jesus, I mean it's unlikely, but there is a chance."

"If Jesus was reincarnated or whatever, I doubt he'd chose you of all people as the body he'd want to be in. Then there's also the fact that you get fucked in the ass - I doubt Jesus is down for that-"

"Goddamn it!" Gerard exclaimed, almost as if genuinely upset. "Satan then, perhaps? I mean the red hair, the fiery pits of hell, that fit? And black hair, darkness and eternal suffering? Also fits."

"Gerard, you're basically saying that all gingers are the reincarnation of Satan." Frank pointed out, unable to stop himself laughing as he realised just what the _fuck_ he'd just said.

"Only some of them." Gerard shrugged it off, laughing a little, before leaning into Frank's side, "hey, it's freaky, but not something to _worry_ about, is it? Technically, it's an _advantage_ , isn't it, because I literally can't be touched!"

"Doesn't mean you should just take it for what it is, though. I'm pretty sure that nothing comes without a single disadvantage or curse." Frank added, his eyes fixated upon his boyfriend, "or maybe that's me being a negative little shit, but still, I care about you, I love you, Gee, and I think it's best that you don't fuck up your afterlife, this second chance or whatever by being, well an idiot."

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, smiling, "you've got a point. You always have a point, you know? And I love you too, Frankie." He put his arm around Frank, pulling him closer.

"Shame you burned that sketch, though - I liked it." Frank added after a few moments of silence had passed.

"Seriously?" Gerard exclaimed, his expression contorting into one of confusion. "It made me uneasy as fuck, I thought we were on the same level with that now?"

Frank shrugged a little, "I've been kind of uneasy all day, I mean after that dream, but that's just the dream, isn't it, and I'm starting to think that as long as I don't get another nightmare it's just me overthinking things."

"I guess." Gerard nodded, thinking it best not to worry Frank more than he had to. "Guess maybe we just don't understand somethings, I mean, this emotional connection thing, maybe it doesn't always work one hundred percent?" He offered his best harmless explanation.

"Yeah," Frank nodded, seeming not to notice the way Gerard seemed to be overcompensating for something in his tone, but really, once again, Frank found himself a little different, "like you said, not everything's fucking significant."

"Yeah, I mean, my art isn't even that _good_!" Gerard exclaimed, laughing a little as he found settling into Frank's side a little more comfortably.

"Oh shut up, your art's amazing." Frank, however wasn't taking that kind of nonsense, shifting a little so he was kind of sprawled out across the sofa with his legs in Gerard's lap. "And I fucking _mean_ that."

Gerard only nodded in response, unable to argue his case for mediocrity as he found his attention taken by something far more significant: a little mark upon the bottom of Frank's foot, a little mark that looked an awful lot like a burn.

-


	25. The Right To Maintain Your Aesthetic, Even In Death

Gerard hadn't said a word to Frank in regards to the burn.

Frank hadn't seemed to noticed it, or connected it all together, which led Gerard to believe that it hadn't even hurt, and perhaps if these injuries caused him no pain then they were indeed insignificant, but still, it confused him, because he was pretty fucking sure that this wasn't supposed to happen.

Of course, thinking about it, perhaps the injuries that he came into contact with in this state might have to go somewhere, but Gerard's first thought was his physical body, which he could leave to rot away with very little care, and not his still living boyfriend, who he cared about very much.

He wondered if it was something to do with their connection, and how it had strengthened recently, and that in turn led him to wonder if his connection to Frank was perhaps even stronger than his connection to his body, but still, he wasn't quite sure, and for the life of him, he couldn't quite figure out how this worked.

And he most certainly didn't want to worry Frank with something that, all in all, might amount to very little.

Especially, regarding what state Frank was in recently; he insisted that he was okay, but he seemed to have been forgetting that Gerard could feel the presence of his emotions, and that he most certainly was not.

The thing was, that dream, hadn't just been one dream, it had reoccurred three times now, every night following, and Frank had told Gerard that the dream followed very much the same structure, only growing just a little longer each night: Frank having followed the man down the stairs the second time, into the hallway the third time, and towards the front door the fourth night.

Gerard knew it was freaking Frank the fuck out, he also knew that Frank was more than excessively reluctant to discuss it in any form of detail, and as unhelpful as it was, he respected his boyfriend, and after all, dreams couldn't cause any immediate harm to him, and if it stayed just like this: following a man around a house, it seemed little but insignificant.

They both had a lot to think about, and for the past few days, the two had done very little, sitting in either their bedroom or the room with the big window, curled up together, exchanging very little in the way of conversation, and sometimes Gerard would draw, and sometimes Frank would text Brendon, but they really did very little more than think - time moving far more quickly now, and Gerard could feel it, and even though he knew Frank couldn't, he was still reluctant to give him much more to think about.

Gerard's artwork was now fuelled directly by his subconscious: wild, and unpredictable in nature, the kind of things he'd conjure up as a nineteen year old, and hey, perhaps that was just what this house did to him: the impact of memories, and the way he felt them physically and such, or perhaps the change was far more tangible, and in his head too, and not just his art.

He found himself thinking about himself physically a lot more; about who he'd been, when he was alive in particular, and about how this had all changed things. He found himself mentally making his way to the cemetery and searching for his own grave - something very few people could say they'd done, and somehow, that made it appeal to him, or perhaps he just wanted to roll his eyes at the epitaph.

Because Gerard hadn't made it to the funeral.

He hadn't made it to his own goddamn funeral, and it was down to the logistics of it all, really, unable to really control himself in that early stage, and finding himself attached more so to Frank than his body, because Frank hadn't gone to his funeral either, and Gerard didn't at all blame him.

But still now, he was curious what his family had left of him, he was curious in regards to his body too, he was curious what would happen so close to his body and so close to Frank - whether he'd get superpowers or something equally ridiculous, or maybe he'd feel again, even if just momentarily: emotions, strong, pure, and real - not just reflections of Frank's, which although certainly did the trick, never quite felt the same.

And like that, Gerard found his mind upon his mother, upon Mikey, upon how they lived out their lives now, without him, and he wondered just how those lives could have changed if he'd never fucked up so badly that one day.

And in this second chance that he most certainly did not deserve, he wondered if he perhaps owed it to them to make things right, to apologise even, whether they were ready to accept such a thing or not, but still, Gerard was hesitant, unsure, and content to sketch absently, watching the skyline: the sun rise and fall, rise and fall, forever, with the man he loved, because death, all in all, had made him so much more appreciative of life, of the world, of the simple things: of the sunrise, the sunset, the sky, the forest, the house, the garden, the rooms, the objects within them, the people he loved, and every moment he spent with them.

He wondered how he'd be at thirty two, still alive, still fucked up, still dissatisfied, still hell to deal with: unappreciative, a mess, and whether anything at all could cure that, because as ridiculous as it sounded, it had been death, and death alone, that had finally made him realise what it meant to be alive.

"You..." The sound of Frank's voice startled Gerard a little, bringing him back out of his head, and back into the room, back to the sofa, to the sketch before him, and Frank's arm around him, "you drew your own grave."

Gerard followed Frank's gaze down to his sketch and took it in, "yeah," he uttered, his eyes widening a little: unsure what to make of it. "I guess I did."

"Are you really not conscious of what you're drawing anymore?" Frank continued to ask, reaching for his boyfriend's hand.

"I'm not. I'm not sure how, but it's true."

"Then perhaps they _are_ significant: from the parts of your head you're not in tune to, and I think maybe you should visit your grave." Frank suggested, sitting up a little, "I think we should stop sitting around all day, as well. I'm okay, I am, and if I wasn't, I doubt sitting around would be the best way to help me get out of my own head."

"Yeah," Gerard shrugged, putting his sketchbook down, "I mean, you're just visiting your boyfriend's grave, and I'm just tagging along."

Frank smiled a little, "you want me to buy some flowers for your grave? Roses?"

"Fucking roses are so fucking cliché, it's my grave, I want a say, and I should have the right to maintain my aesthetic, even in death."

"Tulips?" Frank raised his eyebrows, laughing a little.

"Yeah, _tulips._ "

-

Essentially, it was a terrible idea, and what it was little more than what it was in essence, but still, it happened, as most things did.

Gerard was stubborn, and Frank listened to him eventually, and they soon grew tired of the house and the reasons Gerard suddenly found himself equipped with: reasons perhaps not to trust that things were as they seemed, even and in fact, _especially_ , in what was well known to him.

Because a house was never just a house, and a boy was never just a boy.

A death was never just a death, and a funeral was never just a funeral, tears were never just tears, and tulips were never just tulips, and Frank's hand, shaking slightly in Gerard's followed the very same pattern.

Gerard began to wonder if he shouldn't have asked Frank to come with him, to even consider this, because it was a stupid idea, in fact, Gerard began to suspect that he was comprised entirely of stupid ideas, but still, Frank listened to every one with curiosity and care.

Gerard didn't deserve the man beside him, but it was just about now that he found himself becoming aware of the fact that without him, there was no Frank, and in turn, just what that could mean, and what even now, in the present, it did mean for them.

The graveyard wasn't a happy place by any means, especially for Gerard, and especially as he found himself realising just how many memories this place held, just how many people sat beside graves, sat beside the ghosts they couldn't quite see, and in a way that was touching, but there were people sat alone too, and bodies, everywhere; Gerard found himself hypersensitive to death now he was dead too, as might be expected, and the place made him tingle oddly, perhaps as if he'd finally returned home after an extended vacation, but Gerard knew for definite that he'd rather be anywhere but here.

But still, there was this odd pulling feeling, there was the odd sensation, that had him quickening his pace and Frank uttering a question that he didn't quite manage to hear. It was only with Frank's grip around his arm: warm, grounding, perhaps, that he managed to snap his head back in the shorter man's direction, making sense of the noise.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Concern was evident in Frank's tone, as he met Gerard's gaze, eyes widening a little as he attempted to taken in the look in Gerard's. "Something's wrong," he found himself saying before he could think of a better what to phrase it, "you know something's wrong, don't you? Because you're like- you can see it or feel it, sense it, whatever, you just-"

"Frank, _please_ ," Gerard cut him off, holding his boyfriend's hand tight, "I'm okay, I promise you that. It's just, you know? It's a _graveyard_ , how many ghosts do you think there are? How many memories do you think there are? It's overwhelming."

"We can go back, I-"

"No," Gerard stressed, turning back to face the graveyard, "we have to go in now," he uttered with an odd sense of urgency in his voice, one that, he himself perhaps couldn't quite source. "I can't... I need to be near my body, I... I can't explain, Frankie, I'm sorry but it's important."

"You're thinking again, about things, aren't you?" Frank asked as the two began to walk down the path, Frank following Gerard, who seemed to know exactly where he was going, but then again, that kind of made sense.

"I'm _always_ thinking," Gerard laughed a little, "as are you: we're humans, we think, that's what we do."

"You know what I mean," Frank let out a sigh, understanding that Gerard was perhaps a little tense right now and letting that one slip.

"Yeah, I do." Gerard nodded, turning behind him, gaze fixated upon a particularly strong figure, sat beside a grave alone, flickering in the sunlight. "I know I think a lot, but I think I'm right about what I think about, you know?"

The figure looked up, meeting Gerard's gaze with intrigue, glancing between Gerard and then Frank, hand in hand.

"Well, you _would_ think you're right-" Frank stopped as he noticed that Gerard had stopped, eyes fixated upon seemingly nothing, "okay, so what is it?" He asked, letting out a sigh, perhaps getting tired of ghosts more than anything, because a whole world that your boyfriend could see but you couldn't did kind of suck.

"Just..." Gerard paused, stepping closer, unable to quite pinpoint just what was so special about this figure, "just a ghost... there's _something_... I... I can't place..."

The figure stood up; Gerard was still mostly unable to make out its features, but he could figure that it was female, and quite a bit older than him, but perhaps not as long dead as him.

"Are they... I don't know, threatening or-"

"No," Gerard turned away, forcing himself to shake it off, despite how much he felt drawn to the figure, "I don't know them, I think I just thought there was something special there, it's nothing." He let out a sigh, taking Frank's hand in his as the two made their way past more graves, past more memories Gerard did all he could to block out: a whole that appeared so peaceful and lonely to Frank, but was nothing short of a mess in his own.

"I don't like that there are things you can see that I can't... I don't mean that in offense, I just... we're not on the same page a lot of the time, and I don't like that, like somethings, I feel like I just _won't_ understand." Frank continued, his voice a little wary.

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, "I get that too. I want you to understand, but perhaps I don't, because I tell you that there are indeed somethings you don't want to see, things you can't unsee."

"Like my mother, _dying_. My father chasing her," Frank let out a sigh, biting his bottom lip, "I think it's better than I didn't see that, but in the same way, I'd give everything to, just to see what kind of monster he really was, just to see it, the truth, something that can't be taken away from me."

"You already know he's a horrible person, do you not?" Gerard raised his eyebrows at that one.

"Yeah, but only in my mind, it's different." Frank shrugged, "I can't really verbalise it, it's just _feelings..._ uncertainty, a distrust in my own head, and those dreams aren't helping."

"You had another last night?" Gerard asked, his eyes widening in concern, "I assumed, since you didn't mention anything, that-"

"I thought I was boring you with this bullshit, because it seems pretty ridiculous, doesn't it? They're just _dreams_ , but they're not." Frank exhaled loudly, turning away from Gerard momentarily. "Still don't make any fucking sense, just a figure in a hallway, a house I don't really know, and they say everything in your dreams you've seen before in real life, don't they? But I don't know if that's true anymore... or maybe, maybe they're not dreams, you know? Maybe it's something fucking weird, something else, Gee, I don't know, and I'm overthinking it now, aren't I?"

And in the silence that followed, Frank realised just how still his boyfriend had gone: practically frozen beside him - silent, unblinking, more dead than he'd seemed ever before.

" _Gee_?" He continued, placing his hand on Gerard's shoulder, tapping him a little in attempt to grab his attention. "Gerard? Are you-... I...?" It was then that Frank found himself following Gerard's gaze, to a grave, or perhaps more than that in his eyes - that remained unknown to Frank.

"It's that one," he finally formed some type of response, lifting his hand and pointing vaguely at the grave he was fixated upon. "That's mine," he continued, swallowing hard and turning to Frank, shaking a little all over.

"Oh...." Frank's eyes widened, finding himself unsure quite what to make of this all, " _fuck_... I don't know what to say, I... I guess you're not okay, and I guess I'm not either..."

Gerard nodded, " _yeah..."_ His tone was somewhat exasperated in nature, "This is weird, my head hurts, and I... there's... it's my funeral... you know, I never went to my own funeral, so I think... I think it might see what it was like, fuck, please, hold my hand, though?" Gerard turned to Frank, tears in his eyes, "I hate to say it, but I'm scared, I'm not sure why, but I'm scared."

Frank nodded, dropping the flowers at Gerard's grave, and reaching for his boyfriend's hand, the two sitting down before it. "I love you," Frank uttered, his gaze fixated upon the grave before him: it all really set in stone, because nothing had been quite like this before, and it _hurt_.

"I love you too." Gerard muttered without hesitation, leaning into Frank's side as he focused upon the memory suddenly very clear before him, and Frank was left in reality, Gerard fading a little beside him.

However, Frank didn't quite notice, tears in his eyes, unable to tear his gaze away from the headstone, and from the name upon it: _'Gerard Arthur Way'_ , from the dates upon it, from the day he was born, the day he died, and the bullshit epitaph below it, that somehow found itself heartbreakingly beautiful in context.

Gerard however, saw more than a headstone before him, he saw people gathered around it, around him, around Frank, but missing them entirely, and a coffin, a coffin beside the headstone: his own. A vicar before him, and people at the back of his mind around him: his mother, his brother, Pete, Bert, people he pretended to care about, but _not_ Frank, and he knew why, because Frank wasn't like them, Frank was with him, Frank was sat beside him unaware, because Frank had always been by his side, stared at with him, not the one staring at him.

And then, Gerard found himself fixated upon one figure in particular: a man, stood a few feet away from his mother, a man he didn't quite recognise. A man, who stepped closer to Mikey, putting a hand on his shoulder, a man who Mikey looked up at nervously, and then suddenly a man he knew. A man he knew to be his father.

And then in his head, his mother's voice, half there, echoing, a phone call to a man she didn't speak to anymore, but the man who'd fathered a child, a child who'd killed himself the week before. Gerard hated the notion of such a phone call, Gerard hated the caller and the one of the other line, and he felt sorry, sorry for them for the first time in his life: compassion seemed different in death, and his heart ached with the way Mikey looked unsure around him: a man he didn't know, but knew to be his father - an odd situation, all in all.

And Pete stood close to Mikey too, protective, eyeing his father every few seconds, suspicious almost, but caring, and Gerard was sorry, sorry as Mikey began to cry, his mother already with tears in her eyes, and his father regretful of the son he'd never really known.

Then a speech his mother had tried to make but couldn't quite muster, one his father had opted to continue for her, and one Mikey had looked at him oddly throughout, and Gerard knew why, because it felt wrong - those weren't his words, they held false meaning, they held hell, they held care but not love, but he was trying, in that moment, his father was trying, but it had been too late. It wasn't his fault, of course, he just wasn't relevant, and that was clear.

That was clear as Bert began to speak: a speech from an ex-boyfriend, and a dick of one at that, meaning more than one from his own father, because those were words that meant something, and this was all too much, all too many tears for a man who was dead, but not quite as dead as they would think.

Because in that moment, Gerard felt guilty: guilt intertwined with tears on his cheeks, and the world fading out around him, suddenly feeling far more dead than he ever had before, barely visible like he was in New York as Frank sat beside him.

And then the one word that had him attempting to pull himself back to reality: " _Frank_?"

But the thing was, the word hadn't come from his lips.

-


	26. i've been excited to write this bit since the start of this fucking fic

Gerard swore to God that he didn't exist at all for a good moment there, fixating his gaze upon the speaker, with their hand upon Frank's shoulder.

Frank had also turned, Frank had also heard, Frank had also noticed, and from the look on Frank's face, Frank had recognised them too.

Frank, however, had not drifted so far away from reality and into a memory as to not be visible once the figure approached, and Frank had not said that way, but Gerard had.

And Gerard swore he didn't exist at all as his brother looked right through him and towards his gravestone, then to Frank, and all with this somber look in his eyes.

Because to the figure, to _Mikey_ , Gerard indeed did not exist anymore, and the black haired man remained invisible to him: eyes widened, lost in his own mind as he struggled to make sense of it all in his own head, because he couldn't just magically appear, fuck, he couldn't even if he wanted to, and he wasn't quite sure he did want to at all.

Especially, considering the look in Mikey's eyes; the look that came when he pulled his gaze over the letters upon Gerard's grave - that name, and the truth, inescapable in his eyes.

Gerard found himself just sitting there, somewhat lost between two planes of existence, not really in either but sat up high on the fence, so high that no one on either side could see him, and that was indeed what it felt like to really not exist.

Frank glanced in Gerard's direction, appearing to have processed to some extent just what the fuck had happened, however as he laid his gaze upon the nothing where his boyfriend had once been, he let out a sigh, rationalising it - Gerard had disappeared. He glanced back up at Mikey: someone he hadn't seen in so long, and to meet here of all places, _fuck_.

"M-Mikey..." He struggled with his name, practically failing in an act so simple as pushing it out between his lips.

Mikey didn't seem to notice the imperfections in Frank's tone, or perhaps just overlooked them, because the two hadn't seen each other in almost a decade, and that made just about everything irrelevant in comparison.

"Fuck... I... I didn't know whether I was ever going to see you again- I... fuck..." Mikey choked out, shaking his head and gesturing for Frank to get to his feet, before pulling him into a hug, because no amount of years could take away what they'd been through together. "When did you come back to Jersey? Where have you even been? What's happened all these years, fuck, Frank- you should have... fuck... I'm just glad you're here now, I can barely believe it, I just..." He let out a sigh, stepping away from Frank a little in order to give him some space.

It was then that Frank really had the opportunity to take in Mikey's appearance and how it had changed over the years; wearing his hair away from his face and even growing something in the way of a beard. He was Frank's age now, and somehow that hadn't quite registered, because when Frank had imagined them meeting Mikey again, he'd imagined eighteen year old Mikey Way who still lived in a world with his brother, and the biggest problem they had was Frank and Gerard's relationship.

It wasn't like that anymore.

Frank, of course, had changed too, looking finally perhaps a little less like a fourteen year old for the first time in his life, but physically not so much, mentally and emotionally, of course, he'd become somewhat of a different person, but as had Gerard.

"I've been here a few weeks, maybe close to a month now. I just... it was a middle of the night spur of the moment kind of thing I just _had_ to go back, I... I was in New York and it just wasn't working - I'd been there since I was twenty five but I was unhappy, I was making nothing of myself, and I just _left_." He paused for a moment, glancing back at the grave behind him: his _boyfriend's_ grave. "Think that was the best thing I ever did. I belong here, and it sounds weird, but I feel like I need to be here."

"For him?" Mikey offered, raising an eyebrow as he followed Frank's gaze to the headstone.

Frank turned back to face him, shrugging a little, "not entirely, but I guess... I guess I did finally get to see his grave... never went to the funeral, I feel like I should have, but he s- I feel like he would say that it doesn't matter. I don't think he'd care all that much for a funeral, I mean, having people say all that stuff about him would definitely fuel his ego, but... for the funeral itself, he wouldn't care in the slightest."

Mikey nodded, unsure as to whether he quite agreed with Frank, but finding no need to voice his thoughts, "our dad came back for the funeral," Mikey continued, his expression making it rather clear that his head was trapped in the memory of that day so fucking long ago, "I'd never really known him, you know, and Gerard knew him, vaguely, but never really liked him, I mean, he just was relevant, he just wasn't relevant all the time Gerard was alive, but the moment he... he fucking- he's dead, my dad's back in the picture, and he didn't leave... he didn't leave this time, this time I wanted him to but he didn't, and mum even got back with him... but... that didn't work out... mum's dead now too... fucking lung cancer - he stayed for that funeral too, _then_ he left. I think Gerard's lucky that he never had to see his mother's funeral, or his father sticking around again."

"Fuck..." Frank trailed off, suddenly becoming increasingly aware of the fact that Gerard could most likely hear this conversation, and then to just how little he knew what to do in regards to that. "I'm sorry. Is it just you now?"

"No," Mikey shook his head, a small smile on his lips, "I've got Pete. Fucker never left me alone, probably the best thing about my life, though, I mean I've spent so much time with him no I think I've gotten used to how much of an idiot he is." Mikey blushed, turning his head away, "we've got kids as well."

" _Kids_?" Frank exclaimed, his eyes widening, "you and Pete?"

"Yeah," Mikey nodded, biting his lip, "me and Pete. We got married a few years back - wanted to do it whilst mum was still alive, and then we adopted about a year ago. We've got Louis, he's two, and Harry, he's turning one in February."

"I kind of can't believe this," Frank admitted, an awkward smile plastered to his face.

"Well, you could come see them for yourself, if you want?"

And Frank did want that; he wanted it very much in fact.

It seemed to be this last little grasp at normality, because in that moment, Frank's whole world seemed to revolve around the desire to go home with Mikey and see Pete again, and make jokes with the two of them, and gush over how cute their kids were.

Frank wanted that so much that he even found himself forgetting about the figure attached to him - that very important figure: _Gerard_.

And Gerard was left to follow awkwardly, now preferring to remain unseen to the both of them, because there was evidently something between the two of them that he just didn't feel like he could be a part of - maybe it was an alive people only kind of thing - Gerard could understand that, couldn't he? Or he could at least try to.

He wanted to, for sure, but he was failing, and he found himself feeling less and less real as he continued to follow Mikey and Frank out of the graveyard.

_His_ Mikey, and _his_ Frank.

His Mikey and his Frank who cared seemingly about the entirety of the rest of the world before him all of a sudden, and well, Gerard's ego didn't quite know how to deal with that.

Gerard didn't blame himself, but he wondered if he should have done so, he wondered if he was in the wrong here, and if this was his fault - this whole fucking mess: a world he couldn't see, his mother's death, his brother's marriage, his _father_ , again, his brother's kids... fuck, he was an uncle now, to some degree at least.

It hadn't really quite set in yet, because truth be told, it just didn't feel real: none of it felt real at all - everything besides Frank having been just a blur since those pills, and he thought Frank had been enough, he'd thought love had been enough, but there was much more to the world than that.

And as he continued to follow the two, he wanted to kill himself again for every time he'd insisted that he didn't want to see his family again.

He didn't want to upset Mikey, though; he didn't want to throw him into this mess of him not really being one _hundred_ percent dead, and Frank dating him, because Mikey's face had really lit up when he'd mention Pete and his kids, and Gerard didn't want to take that away from him.

Because he'd been a shitty brother in life at best, and in death, he strived to be decent enough as to refrain from letting him fuck Mikey's life up again, because Gerard knew himself to be some sort of hurricane, a living storm: sucking up everyone around him and wrecking everything they knew just by living along side them, but he couldn't help it - that was just who he was, and indeed, he loved as everybody else did, he'd felt as everybody else had, but he'd always ending up tearing things to shreds.

It was better that Mikey didn't know him anymore.

Mikey seemed to be okay with it by now - Mikey seemed to be okay with himself by now, even with his brother and mother dead, and his father having fucked off again (but who hadn't seen that coming?). He had his own family now, didn't he?

And Gerard wanted nothing less than to fuck that up for him.

And Frank seemed happy too; happy too see his old friends, and Gerard had to trust himself not to fuck that up too, because he felt like he was destined to. Hell, maybe he should just take himself away from everyone, because maybe then no one could get hurt, but Gerard was far too arrogant to consider himself as any form of martyr, and with that realisation he continued to follow the two, just a little way behind them, though.

He couldn't quite trust himself not to butt in once he caught their conversation, and he wanted his boyfriend and his brother to be happy more than he wanted himself to be, and perhaps that was the only selfless act Gerard might commit within the entirety of his life (and death), but still, it was worth it. It was worth it, for sure.

-

"We kept the house." Mikey began as they approached their destination, travelling down a road Frank found himself almost painfully familiar with. "After mum died," he continued, biting his lip, "she wanted us to, and I guess, I guess well, I don't want to leave this place behind."

"God, I haven't been here in forever..." Frank trailed off, biting his lip as Mikey made his way up to the front door, leaving Frank to glance around in a state of disbelief: at the place that seemed to have barely changed in all of ten years: perhaps frozen in time, perhaps frozen in that day that everything had changed - for the better or for the worst, _that_ , Frank couldn't quite figure out yet.

"Yeah," Mikey nodded, putting his key in the lock, "we haven't really changed all that much of it, besides the absolutely _putrid_ living room wall colour, of course... now a white, because _fuck_ that shade of yellow."

Frank laughed a little, his head caught in waking up on that sofa and questioning the sanity of whoever had decided that the walls should be that colour when he was seventeen, after he and Mikey had gotten beaten up, which wasn't particularly one of the highlights of his life, but something that had meant something in the scheme of things, just as much.

Mikey pushed the door open, calling out into the hallway, "Pete? I'm home, I-" However, before he could finish, well, Pete replied.

"Don't you mean? Pete, I'm homo? Because that's what you are Mikeyway, one big fucking _gay!"_ His voice sounded out through the house, increasing in sound as he made his way through the rooms, getting closer.

Frank had stepped inside, Mikey closing the door behind him, however he was pretty fucking sure he'd lost the ability to breathe as he raked his eyes over the walls, over his surroundings, over the stairs, because just like that, it all made sense, and in much the same way, Frank was certain that it made absolutely _no_ sense at all.

Because the hallway before him was the very same hallway that had haunted his dreams for several nights prior, and he didn't know what to make of that at all: how that could be, and why it was so, and whether he was even supposed to do something in regards to it, and of course, whether now his dreams would finally stop, because Frank had grown to actively hate the sensation of dreaming: the sickening sensation of being in a world, in a body, in a life you couldn't control.

"Fuck, is... I-" Pete's voice came to a halt as he did: just a few metres before them, before Mikey, before _Frank_ , and it was with his presence that Frank found himself forced back into the world around him, his gaze forced to meet Pete's, and forced to deal with a friend he hadn't seen for ten years.

"Pete, for god's sake, can you not curse every two words when the kids could hear you?" Mikey let out a sigh, sounding almost unnervingly parental, and even _responsible_ as he did so.

" _Frank_?" Pete exclaimed, disregarding Mikey's words entirely as he rushed forward to pull Frank into a hug with a cry of, "holy fuck you motherfucker, where the fuck have you been? Is everything okay? Are you okay? How are things?"

Frank pulled away, laughing a little as he did so, "I'm fine," he insisted, brushing his hair from his face. "I was in New York for a while. I just came back here recently... I mean... _man_ , you married Mikey, you and Mikey are married with kids- what the _fuck_?" Frank took his turn to really take it all in, and to disregard the hallway as just a hallway, the stairs, as just stairs, and the dreams, as just that: dreams.

"Yeah," Mikey raised his voice a little, " _kids_. Kids that shouldn't hear you two saying the 'f word' every four point five seconds."

"Yeah," Pete nodded, blushing a little, "he's a much better dad than me. Honestly, I'm quite shocked I've haven't got either of them killed yet, shocked I haven't got Mikey killed yet either, you know?"

It was then that there was a cry of, "daddy!" from the kitchen, and no, it wasn't the 5 Seconds of Summer fanbase as Ashton walked into the room, but Mikey and Pete's kids - most likely Louis, due to the fact that Harry wasn't even one yet.

"Somebody wants me!" Pete exclaimed, his eyes lighting up a little as he rushed back into the kitchen, leaving Frank to glance across at Mikey, and to smile, because there was really something beautiful about all of this, and in a way, he was jealous, not that he wanted to have kids with Gerard, because truth be told, Gerard would probably throw one off a cliff to prove a point and accidentally leave the other half way across the world.

"He's such a fucking idiot." Mikey let out a sigh, shaking his head, "I love him, though."

Frank grinned a little, "what happened to not swearing when the kids could hear?"

"Well, Pete isn't here to tell me off for it, is he?" Mikey laughed a little, blushing, "don't tell him, though." He added, before leading the way into the kitchen, where Frank was met with the scene of Pete Wentz bottle-feeding a two year old: Pete Wentz, the weird emo kid from high school, that hadn't grown any taller or any less emo, or even any less childish, truth be told, he'd only gotten rid of the red streak in his hair, and well, that had looked fucking ridiculous, so Frank would have been kid of concerned if he'd kept it for ten fucking years.

Mikey threw his jacket towards the table, and glanced around, " _Pete_ , have you lost Harry?"

"No, actually," Pete looked up, looking all _too_ proud of himself as he did so, "I put him to bed for a nap, he looked really fucking tired - poor lil guy-"

" _Pete_." Mikey gestured to Louis, "language." He shook his head in disbelief, before turning back to face Frank, "you want a coffee or something?" He asked.

Frank nodded, sitting down at the kitchen table, and trying not to focus too hard upon the mess he'd been in when he'd sat here last, in the mess Gerard had caused, with Mikey and Mrs Way: Mrs Way who'd been all so fucking nice to him, Mrs Way who he'd never see again, although Frank wasn't sure whether he should be quite so certain of that.

With screaming come from upstairs - not like dying person, but hungry baby screaming, Mikey made his way upstairs to deal with it, leaving Pete to finish Frank's coffee and then rush after him as he came to realise that Mikey had taken Louis' bottle up with him, and well, Louis was throwing a rather dramatic fit in response.

And as he sat in the kitchen, _that_ kitchen, alone, coffee before him and all too much in his head, a figure seemed to fade back into reality across from him: sat adjacent, and that figure, of course, Gerard.

And still, despite the fact that he was well aware it could never be anyone else, Frank jumped a little, blushing in response.

"Only me." Gerard added, brushing his hair away from his face, "it's best they don't know about all this shit with me, you know?"

"Yeah," Frank nodded, "I gathered that."

"They're happy, really fucking happy, you look happy too, and I feel like I'm what ruined all of that, and I-"

"Shut the fuck up." Frank insisted, his tone growing stern, "you're what makes me happy, Gee, how could you forget that?"

He shrugged a little, "I just guess sometimes I think that-" He was cut off however by the sound of footsteps upon the stairs, and he faded back away out of view.

And in that moment, Frank didn't give a shit as to what Mikey or Pete could have thought, because all that mattered to him was Gerard and what nonsense he had to say.

-


	27. He's Your Brother, Not Voldemort

"Don't _ever_ have kids." Pete began as he made his way back into the kitchen, putting Louis down in his high chair; the two year old completely unaware as to what his father had just said about him.

Frank laughed a little, raising his eyebrows slightly, "I doubt I will," he admitted with an awkward kind of shrug.

"Why not?" Pete asked, sitting down at the table and looking across at Frank with perhaps an excess of curiosity.

"I thought you were telling me never to have them, like literally thirty seconds ago." Frank pointed out, a small smile upon his lips.

"Yeah, _well_ , I didn't exactly mean that, did I?" Pete laughed, glancing back at Louis, who had amused himself with counting his own fingers, because of course, you gotta check they're all there, don't you? "I love my kids. And I love Mikey. And I _even_ love how he tells me off for swearing around them. I _also_ love how he still hasn't noticed that I named them after the gayer half of One Direction - _please_ , don't tell him, I think he'd genuinely kill me."

Frank's eyes widened in disbelief, but then again, this was _Pete_. "Are you kidding me?"

"Well..." Pete trailed off, laughing a little, "we chose Louis together at first, because well Louis is a nice name, and then I'm like another kid, okay, what goes well with Louis, and I mean, it's _obviously_ Harry. But like we're not having anymore kids because I think he'd start to get suspicious if we got a Niall or a Liam, and then it's just tragic that Zayn left and if we had four kids called Louis, Harry, Niall, and Liam, I mean you _know_ I wouldn't be able to restrain myself from ensuring that they believed they had a brother called Zayn who got eaten by a pack of hyenas at a young age-"

"Are you sure you're fit to be a parent?" Frank asked, leaning back in his chair, laughing a little.

" _No_." Pete exclaimed, shaking his head a little too enthusiastically. "That's why Mikey exists, because I think he kind of knows what he's doing some of the time, and I mean, neither of them have died yet, so we're doing _fine_."

"It's cute." Frank noted, "really happy for you guys. Kind of jealous, honestly."

"Go on then, find yourself someone," Pete encouraged, "you can do the whole family thing too."

"Nah," Frank shook his head, "it's like leather pants, I think they look great on some people, but for me, fuck no."

"Frank, did you just compare my children to a trashy item of clothing?" Pete's eyes widened in what Frank desperately hoped was _mock_ offense.

"Nope." Frank let out a sigh, glancing at the back door, "is it alright if I go out for a smoke?"

"Didn't know you smoked, you've _changed_." Pete shook his head in disbelief but nodded in the vague direction of the back door.

"I've changed?" Frank snorted at that, "I'm not the one with kids." He closed the door behind him before he could quite catch Pete's response, and really he wasn't missing out on much.

He sat down on the porch steps, his knees pulled up to his chest, and fixating his gaze upon the horizon as he lit a cigarette, wondering if Gerard might decide to grace him with his presence, or whether he was insist upon fucking off for an undetermined amount of time right now, which was really not something Frank was all that pleased with, because as annoying as Gerard could get, Frank couldn't deny the fact that he did indeed depend upon him to some degree.

"You know? This is fucking... _weird_."

And of course, Frank nearly had a heart attack as the space beside him filled with Gerard's figure: somewhat transparent and ghost like in appearance, which had Frank confused.

"I look weird." Gerard nodded, meeting Frank's gaze, "I know. I'm using up a lot of energy here, just focusing on this, what's real, what's right now: there are a lot of memories, it's kind of a mess. It's kind of hard to be here." He went on to admit, "but I can do it, don't worry about me, don't you _dare_ worry about me."

Frank looked out across the yard, "I can imagine there's a lot for you here."

"I can pretty much see my whole life in this house. Right from day one: there's my mother and my father and me, then my mother and my father and Mikey and me, and then just my mother and Mikey and me... and then just my mum and Mikey. And then he came back again. I can see that too. I can feel parts of him here too, and I don't like that. And I don't think I can enter that living room at all because it's just you after being beaten up, and... then you staying the night that time, and-"

"High school musical." Frank finished for him, laughing a little, "I can't believe we watched High School fucking Musical."

"Yeah. There's a lot of us, a lot of memories of us." Gerard nodded, biting his lip, "and a lot of that comprises of me being a dick to you, and for that, I'm so fucking sorry."

"You don't need to apologise, Gee, it's fine. You're different now, you grew the fuck up-"

"I haven't grown up at all. I just _died_ , I just lost everything. And then that was when I stopped taking the world for granted." Gerard let out a sigh, turning his gaze away from Frank.

It was then that Frank remembered his dream, "you know the dreams I kept having?"

"Mmm..." Gerard nodded, looking up a little.

"They're set here. They were in the hallway and the stairs here, and I only realised that as I saw them again, but it's obviously like that and I don't understand why or how, but I think it might be like with the dreams about Jersey, like they might stop now I'm here, I just... I don't know."

Gerard paused for a moment, "I think to some degree your subconscious is dictating your entire existence. What happens if you dream about like a volcano or something? You gonna go there to get your dreams to stop?"

Frank shook his head, "I don't think it works like that. I don't know how it works, but I just... I don't know."

Gerard nodded, sighing a little, "they kept my room the same. The exact same how I left it. No one's touched it or barely even gone inside. I can feel it. Ask them why the fuck they did that. I hate it."

"Why do you hate it?"

"I just want them to get over me, I'm just a burden. I get that now." And with that, Gerard faded away, leaving Frank to his cigarette and the worst parts of his head, alone.

-

"You can stay here as long as you want." Mikey held the offer out like it was casual, nothing at all - it wasn't, because truth be told, Frank wanted that, wanted to pretend that it was all okay for as long as he could, and here, with Mikey and Pete, he could see a chance of that happening.

But he knew more than he knew anything that it was most certainly the _last_ thing Gerard wanted.

"I..." Frank shrugged a little, leaning back against the wall of the living room: Pete having gone out and Mikey sat there, attempting to feed Harry. Harry was perhaps making a conscious effort to make it hard for him, although, Frank did doubt the not even one year old capable of such a thing, but still, Mikey wasn't having the easiest of times.

"You what?" Mikey asked looking up after a minute or so of the silence that his words had dissipated into had passed.

Frank shrugged, blushing a little. "I don't know. I just, it's this place, and I..."

"There's a lot. There's not just one elephant in the room, there are fucking five hundred." Mikey announced, glancing down at Harry, and letting out a sigh, "he's too young to pick up words yet, isn't he?"

"I don't know a thing about babies, but I guess so." Frank found himself saying, just perhaps because he knew that Mikey wanted or even just _needed_ to hear it.

"I fucking _hope_ so." He paused, shaking his head as he came to realise that he'd cursed again. "You just can't _help_ cursing, sometimes, a lot of the time..." Mikey let out a sigh, glancing up at Frank and forcing an awkwardly shaped smile, "I think we need to stop acting so awkward and polite, Frank, we need to _talk_ , now that Pete's out. I'll take Harry upstairs- you know what? Come with me, there's something I should show you.

"What's that?" He found himself asking, looking more than just a little anxious as he did so.

"Come on," Mikey gestured for him to get up as opposed to providing him with any form of real answer. "It's perhaps easier to show you."

And Frank didn't quite know what to say in response to that, so he just found himself doing as Mikey told him.

"Why didn't you come back before?" Mikey asked, before common sense could quite cut in, as they made their way upstairs, Harry in his hands.

Frank bit his lip, unsure as to quite how he was supposed to respond. "I... just... I..."

"It's okay. I'm sorry." Mikey cut in, before interrupting his train of thought, "you know what? Maybe I'm not because I know just being polite and apologising for everything and not daring to find shit out isn't going to get us anywhere. So, Frank, in the least aggressive way possible, what the fuck happened to you?"

Frank let out a sigh, because as much as he hated talking about these things, he just _knew_ that Mikey was right - Mikey was older and cleverer than him, after all. "I was in hospital, for a while... long while," he began, his voice suddenly very quick, unlocking the lock upon the door that had stayed closed in his mind for a long time now - the door back to that place, back to the years in which he'd lost all sight of himself.

Mikey bit his lip, the two making their way into the nursery. He placed Harry down in his bed, before turning to face Frank and continuing to ask him, "how long? What happened? Talk to me, Frank. I'm concerned about you, I missed you, you're my _friend_ , I-"

"I stayed there until I was twenty five." Frank went on to say, his voice just as quite, and finding himself perhaps even physically incapable of meeting Mikey's gaze. "It... it wasn't the worst thing in the world, but it was... it was... I... I don't know what it was, I've blocked the most of it out of my head. I try my best to avoid it, to forget about it, but it was certainly the low of my life."

"I'm sorry." Mikey let out a sigh, moving forward and pulling Frank into a hug, "I'm so sorry, but you... you know how bad you were. You needed that help, and now you're better, aren't you? So all in all, it was a good thing, wasn't it?"

"I'm trying my best to convince myself that it was." Frank admitted, pulling away, "sometimes that's hard, sometimes that isn't. I guess I needed it, but I also guess I needed anything but those years I spent there. But all in all, I wouldn't be who I am today without all that happened to me, so I can't really even wish to mess with things and the way they happened."

"Can I ask what happened? How did you get released? What diagnosis did they give you-"

"Mikey, please don't say 'released' makes it sound like a fucking prison." Frank cursed, raising his voice for the first time in a while. "I got out because I got better, didn't I? With medicine and therapy, although the both of them were pretty shit, but I'm fine now. I feel fine, I _am_ fine."

"So what did you get diagnosed with?" Mikey continued to ask, despite the way that Frank's voice made it obvious that he shouldn't.

"Well they reckoned I have schizophrenia." Frank snapped, looking away, "I used to agree with them. I'm not so sure anymore, in fact, I'm certain I don't, but you'll just get pissed at me for saying that, because you can't know because you won't understand what else there is to it. To it all. There's a lot going on in my head, and none of it is to do with fucking _schizophrenia_."

"Alright..." Mikey paused, not entirely sure what to say to that at all, because Frank didn't seem 'crazy' to him, and he knew he wouldn't lie to him, but still, doctors tended to be right about these things, surely they couldn't have kept Frank there for so many years if he didn't actually have the illness they reckoned he did. "What _is_ going on in your head?"

"Gerard." Frank said without thinking, raising his eyebrows at the way Mikey winced a little in response to the name, "he's your brother not Voldemort, I can say his name, can't I?"

"He _was_." Mikey sighed a little, "was my brother because he's dead."

"Just because he's dead doesn't mean he never _existed_." Frank exclaimed, even beginning to come off a little offended in his speech.

"I never said that, fuck, of course I know he existed, I care about him, I fucking thinking about him all the time, but he's dead now and I can't change that." Mikey sighed, glancing back at Harry, and cursing himself for continuing to swear in front of him, "I should show you what I meant to." He gestured for Frank to leave the room, closing the door behind them.

"And what is this _thing_?" Frank asked, glancing around at the walls: suddenly growing so much more familiar, so much more alike to the walls, to the view from his dreams, until he found himself with such a sense of deja vu that it was rather like a punch to the stomach.

Mikey stood before the door, where the figure from his dream had. The door being, of course, the door from his dream, and Frank found himself frozen, if only momentarily now, where he'd been stood in his first dream.

"It's Gerard's old room." Mikey said it before Frank could quite piece it together. "We kept it the same, all the same furniture, everything as he left it. Pete wanted to turn it into another bedroom and I know we are when the kids get older, but I just... I just can't bring myself to destroy it - it's like all that's left of Gerard. I need this, I do."

And with that, Mikey reached out and pushed open the bedroom door, and like a punch to his gut, came the view of Gerard's room and the bedroom they'd spent their last morning together alive: the fuck and the argument, heaven and hell, and then just a downwards spiral from then on, and Frank just couldn't shake the feeling that part of him was tied to that room rather physically, and he only found that feeling confirmed as he followed Mikey inside, and encountered a sensation much akin to the one he'd encountered as he crossed over from New York into New Jersey.

"I don't know how much he would have appreciated this: keeping his bedroom, preserving him and his life, but I don't care, if he fucking cared that much he would have given more than a few lines in the way of a fucking suicide note." Mikey's voice broke as they stepped inside, biting his lip as he took in the walls and the furniture, making it evident immediately that he couldn't quite bring himself to go here much.

"He wouldn't like the idea of you keeping this part of him around, I think, something to do with him dragging you down, although, it doesn't make much sense to me. I think the truth is that he wouldn't want this to be how he would be remembered. I think he'd take much more kindly to a shrine."

Mikey laughed a little at that: that awkward crude gaspy, teary laughter, when you almost can't believe you're fucking laughing, because it doesn't make sense to you at all, but you find yourself with very little control of your emotions at all. "I guess."

"He wouldn't admit it, but he would really like the fact that you still care so much about him. He would never say it but he really does _need_ people, and it sounds ridiculous but he's a very dependent person."

"Sounds like all you've done is contemplate and reflect upon his personality." Mikey added, raising his eyebrows a little.

"Well, you get bored when you spend years in hospital. I mean between trying to kill yourself and getting so drugged up you can't remember your own name, it does get pretty dull-"

" _Frank_." Mikey exclaimed, his eyes widening a little. "You're exaggerating, tell me you're exaggerating-"

"About the second one, yeah, but I... I tried to kill myself... obviously didn't succeed, I'm here now, don't want to kill myself anymore. I'm really good now, actually. It sounds fucking ridiculous because I'm basically surrounded with suffering and death, but emotionally I'm stable, and it's perhaps the best I've been in a long time, since I was about five, you know? But then, my mum was still alive." Frank let out a sigh, "I really miss her."

"I'm sorry, it's like everyone around you has died, that must be fucking horrible, I-"

"Gerard's your brother, and your mother died too." Frank reminded him, not that he really needed to, truth be told. "We both had shitty dads as well. We have a lot in common, really. Your dad's not dead, though, so-"

"He's fucking dead to me." Mikey let out a sigh. "I guess you're right, I mean, I just... I have Pete and the kids, and... fuck, who do you even have, Frank?"

"I've got friends back in New York. I'm fine." He assured him. "I've got you and Pete too. It's not like I'm going to disappear again. I promise. I'm good now, I have a proper life and I'm coping with it."

"Life wasn't fair to you at all." Mikey let out a sigh.

"Wasn't fair to you either." Frank added, shrugging a little, making his way over to the bed, Gerard's bed, and glancing over it - wondering if they'd fucking washed the sheets in ten years. "Did you wash the sheets on this?"

"No, I... I haven't touched it at all."

"Oh, because we fucked that morning. Hygiene tops sentiment, just saying." Frank let out a sigh.

"You're so fucking... _calm_ about this all. Is that your meds? Because it's like... it's almost like it doesn't affect you at all anymore."

Frank shrugged, "could be my meds. Unlikely that it is, considering I don't take them anymore."

"Frank, you fucking- you're schizophrenic, you _need_ to take them, or you could, you could harm someone or yourself, it's really bad, Frank, _please_ listen to me, I-"

"He's not fucking schizophrenic."

Came a voice from behind the two of them - the one voice that was certain to ensure that Mikey had something close to a heart attack.

-


	28. The Word Fuck Appears Over 50 Times In This Chapter

Mikey had fainted.

But who the fuck could blame him? He'd gone a good ten years without hearing Gerard Way make one single pissed off angry comment and then he was practically thrown in the deep end.

Frank didn't exactly look at it that way, though.

Frank looked between the two brothers: one on the floor, and the other trying to refrain from smirking, and wondered what the fuck he'd ever gotten involved in.

"And you _had_ to fucking do that, didn't you?" He snapped, his eyebrows raised a little - question directed at Gerard, of course.

Gerard shrugged, brushing his hair away from his face, "he thought you were fucked up, he was going to do something."

"I was handling it." Frank protested, his eyes widening further in disbelief.

"And how the fuck were you doing that?" Gerard responded, rolling his eyes.

"A fucking better way than just popping out of nowhere and fucking causing him to pass out-" it was then that what had happened really dawned upon Frank, " _fuck_ ," he rushed over to Mikey, "is he okay?"

"He's fine." Gerard told him rather blankly. Frank met him with an unconvinced glare. "I can feel it. Energy, and shit... I don't know. He's fine."

"Physically, maybe, fucking emotionally, I doubt that." Frank groaned, tapping Mikey upon the face gently, trying his best to get him to consciousness again.

"Who is?" Gerard let out a sigh, going over to sit down upon the edge of his bed: awkwardly, with his legs together, like he didn't belong there anymore, like he was sat in the room of someone he barely knew and not his own.

"You can do the explaining." Frank said dryly, biting his lip as Mikey's eyelids began to flicker upon.

"What- the fuck... I...?" Mikey stammered out, reaching out for Frank as he pulled himself into a sitting up position, "I just... that had to be.... I think I blacked out... had some crazy fucking vision- I-"

"Not a vision." Gerard let out a sigh: his tone nonchalant, impatient even, even picking at his fingers as he sat there, not even really looking at Mikey as he spoke, although that was largely down to the fact that he couldn't quite bring himself to.

And Mikey was at least eighty percent sure that his heart exploded in his chest right there as he turned again, facing the bed, facing the figure sat at the end of it: his brother, just the same as he had been ten years ago, besides the hair, of course, and suddenly, Mikey was grasping Frank's wrist tight enough to fuck up the blood flow.

"You fucking- what the fuck-" Mikey began, but he could only stammer and stare in Gerard's direction, unable to form a sentence in his head, let alone verbalise it with a vague sense of coherence.

"Dyed my hair?" Gerard continued to be, well, fucking _Gerard_ , "I know," he went on to say, pulling his hand up through his black locks, "it does look different. Suits me, though, like it. Frankie likes it. Although I think I could shave my whole head and tattoo a butthole onto my scalp and he'd still say I was beautiful, you know what he's like-"

" _Gerard_." Frank gasped out, narrowing his eyes: not entirely sure as to what he could say either. "Stop being such a fucking asshole."

"You- you..." Mikey gasped out, glancing frantically between Frank and Gerard, and coming to realise that they were just as real as each other, and fuck, he really needed to pass out again, but even he knew that it wasn't going to accomplish anything. "What the fuck did you do?" He spat, this time directly at Gerard.

" _Me_?" Gerard raised his eyebrows, as if offended, "what did I do? What do you mean? I've done loads of things, I've done a lot more art recently, so yeah, art, walk around the house, look at your kids, cute kids by the way, _Frank_ , not in your house, in our house, although it's not really our house we just kind of broke into it and nobody's kicked us out yet-"

" _Gerard_ , what the fuck did you do? Did you fucking fake your death or some fucking shit because I swear to God, I will kill you for real now?!" Mikey yelled, getting to his feet and glaring Gerard down, wondering if he'd ever been angrier in his life, but in exactly the same way, never more relieved to see anyone, because this was _Gerard_ , this was his older brother, here, in front of him, _again_.

"No." Gerard sighed out, "that would have been impressive, but I did actually die. I'm a ghost."

"Ghosts aren't fucking real, Gerard, and you look just as real, just as fucking alive as Frank does!" Mikey went onto exclaim, pointing frantically between the two of them, but generally unable to believe just what the fuck was going on.

"I didn't think they were real either, you know, until I was one." Gerard let out a sigh, looking up at his brother, "I could look less 'real' if you want," he added, before concentrating and causing his form to flicker and fade out of existence a little, before materialising properly again.

"What the... fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-"

"It's true." Frank let out a sigh, putting his hand on Mikey's shoulder, "and I wanted to kill him at first, of course I did, and I didn't believe him and I just wanted him to leave me alone, but that's really the last thing I want. He's like connected to me, or some shit, I don't understand it, neither does he, but he's better at pretending to than I am-"

"So that's it...? _Dying_? You come back as a ghost?" Mikey exclaimed, his eyes widening, his thoughts racing, "what's it like? What the fuck happens?"

Gerard shrugged, "not always. I'm just connected to Frank, anchored down to this 'dimension', so to speak, some people, they go off to wherever you go from here, and that I don't know, but..." he let out a sigh, looking down, "I was in my body and then I closed my eyes, and it was a good two minutes of nothing at all, before I open my eyes because there's this feeling of weightlessness: this feeling of nothing at all, and I'm drifting away from my body- fuck... fucking stood there, and I can't move, I can't do anything but watch as Frank finds my body... and it was the worst fucking thing I ever-" It was then that Gerard really looked up and met his brother in the eye, "I'm _sorry_ , I really fucking am, I-"

Mikey didn't even let him finish before he stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, squeezing so tight as if he was scared he might disappear again.

"Fuck," Mikey commented, "I didn't expect you, to be like solid, I-"

"I'm not always, but I can be. It's complicated, but when I'm closer to Frank and my body, like the actual thing in the ground in the graveyard, the more control I have over my state of being. When we were back in New York no one could see me besides Frank unless I focused really hard whilst we were holding hands or something."

"Wait... so... you're..." Mikey glanced between the two, "he's dead, but you're still dating him?"

"Y-yeah..." Frank trailed off, "it's not that weird, I mean... it's just... _Gerard_ , but he's maybe a tiny bit less obnoxious now and he doesn't sleep anymore, and sometimes he just disintegrates, which is fucking lovely."

"So..." Mikey trailed off, "if... when you die... you-"

"You're talking about mum, aren't you?" Gerard let out a sigh, "I've been looking for here all over this place, but I've not had any luck, we could try other places, but I doubt she's still here somewhere."

"How did you know about her?"

"Well, basically I was there when you first saw Frank, you just couldn't see me, I've been pretty much with Frank the whole time. He couldn't see me either. I kind of... it was weird, I needed to fade out a little."

"That freaked me out, you know?" Frank added.

"I'm sorry."

"Honestly, I think the fact that you now possess the ability to apologise to people is harder to accept than the fact that you're... you're a ghost.." Mikey looked over his brother again in disbelief, "fuck... we... we really need to talk Gerard... I fucking-"

"I know." Gerard nodded, "I missed you, Mikeyway, I'm sorry-"

"Stop apologising, it's weird, _fuck_."

"Weirder than this?" Gerard asked, before fading out slightly and walking straight through the bed.

Mikey fainted again.

-

Mikey had regained consciousness after they'd taken him downstairs, the two of them having silently refrained from putting him down on the sofa because laying passed out on the sofa in that living room was an all too familiar situation, and honestly, it wasn't like Gerard wasn't already practically drowning in memories and just about everything that he'd ever wanted to suppress now _screaming_ at him.

"You're an asshole." Frank muttered, watching as Gerard supported his brother as he came back to his senses.

Gerard raised his eyebrows in response, because he really did not want to let that one slide, but still, it wasn't worth waking his brother up to the two of them arguing, in fact, if Gerard could pinpoint the one thing that had ruined his entire existence, time after time, it was indeed arguments, and especially unnecessary ones, especially ones with people who he loved.

"I heard that." He opted for instead, sitting Mikey down at a chair at the kitchen table, making sure he wouldn't fall out of it, before taking the one beside him.

Frank nodded, "I know," also refusing to make much of it right now, but he found himself pissed at Gerard, mainly being such an ass about things, although by now, he had just about figured out that being an ass about everything was just something that Gerard Way couldn't help, but still, he was being more of an ass today, more of an ass than necessary at least.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Mikey let out a sigh, looking across at Gerard in disbelief, "that was... my head feels funny, I don't fucking like this, you know? You being... dead but not dead, alive but not alive, back but not really, and just as much of a fucking asshole, _god_... I can't handle this, you know? I thought I was okay, I thought I was over it, and I thought, okay, I've lost a lot of people, but I have Pete and the kids - I have my life, but... it's different now, isn't it? Because you're... you're..." Mikey stuttered out, unable to quite pull the word from his lips, "you're a g-ghost... and we have to... have to deal with that, because you're not _dead_ anymore, like not really, it's... it's a lot to take in Gerard, and I don't know if I want to deal with this, but we have to deal with this."

"No one says we _have_ to." Gerard added, leaning back in his chair a little.

"I do." Frank spoke up from where he was stood, leaning back against the kitchen wall, "and we shouldn't argue. That's the worst thing that can do, but come on, we need to... _talk_."

"What? You as well?" Gerard exclaimed, looking at Frank in disbelief.

"What? Me as well? Having common sense, ridiculous, isn't it?" Frank muttered, rolling his eyes, before glancing at Mikey, "you want coffee?" Mikey only nodded in response.

"Yeah, it is." Gerard commented, his tone a little more light hearted this time, "I mean, you still love me for a start, that's perhaps the least logical thing anyone can do." He laughed a little, avoiding Mikey's gaze as he watched Frank make coffee for Mikey and himself.

"Gerard, _please_ ," Frank let out a sigh, turning to face him, "we've talked about this. Why are you being... being so _difficult_ today?"

Gerard cringed visibly at the word, before shrugging and throwing a face in Mikey's direction, however, he really should have known that his brother was on the exact same page as his boyfriend in this matter. "Well... it's just... honestly, it's this place, and it's everything I've ever tried to forget and bury just forced into my face. Things I've tried to forget, and now I'm forced to deal with them... fucking _memories_."

"Is it as bad as the forest?" Frank asked, noting Mikey's utterly confused face, but choosing to ignore it, just for a second, at least.

Gerard shook his head, "I think maybe I've just gotten used to deal with it now, I mean, there's a lot here, and I've been here for longer now, so, I don't know. Maybe it's because it's I mean, my house, I honestly don't know, I haven't had a lot of time to think about it. It's perhaps impossible for me to clear my head in a place like this."

"Excuse me," Mikey began, glancing between the two of them, "like sorry to interrupt, but, as politely as I can put it, what the fuck are you talking about?"

Gerard laughed a little at that, looking up to meet his brother's gaze, "well, it sounds kind of weird it's also kind of hard to explain, but I can sort of _see_ memories, like well, _feel_ them more than anything, I don't know how to put it, and well they're stronger when I have an emotional connection to them, say normal memories like putting the milk in a cupboard or ones irrelevant to me, I can't see, I mean, I probably _could_ but only if I was specifically trying to, and then there are the ones that are perhaps things like me walking down a road one day after something happened and I would see that as I go to that place, but I'd look over it pretty quickly, because it doesn't really _do_ anything, it doesn't affect anything, but things like... the horrific things or the things that are personal to me are stronger, and those require effort to ignore, and when there are a lot of them, that's a hell of a lot of effort, think of a really bad headache, and then sometimes some of these things are so strong that they block out the other ones. And then with seeing them, it's not like they're just _there_ , it's like I can feel them and then _imagine_ them in the place they were supposed to be, but they're always very clear, it's kind of like... I don't know... it's... it's not something I can explain."

"So what can you see right now? Well, I mean, the strongest thing, right here in this kitchen?" Mikey asked, a little taken a back and perhaps in disbelief of what Gerard was saying, but honestly, he didn't know what else he could do but believe him.

Gerard paused for a moment, his gaze seeming to drift off elsewhere as Frank finished making coffee and sat down across from Gerard.

"Well, there's two... there's the three of us one morning ages ago, when Frank stayed overnight and you were awake first and you were pissed off because you didn't like that Frank had stayed with me and we started having an argument and I really thought I hated you at that point, because it was like you were trying to destroy everything that mattered to me, but you weren't, in hindsight, you were just trying to protect us, I mean, both of us. I guess it made sense, didn't it, Mikey?" Gerard let out an awkward laugh, looking up at his brother, "you didn't want me to be in another relationship because you were scared of what I'd freak out and do when it went wrong, and well, I fucking killed myself, didn't I? So I guess you were right, weren't you-"

" _Gerard."_ Mikey let out a sigh, cursing a little, "I just... I shouldn't have been so hard on you two, I just... I don't-"

"It's fine." Gerard sighed, stopping him, "and the other... the other is when I was a little kid and I was sat in that chair," he paused, gesturing to the chair at the opposite side of the table, beside Frank, "and 'dad' was sat opposite me, and he first told me that he was leaving mum, and I didn't know what he meant, I mean, I _knew_ what divorce was, but it was like my head refused to get it, it was just.. like something like dragons or something - something you saw in books and on TV and you knew about, but something you thought you'd never encountered, and then it's like a slap in the face, and fuck, it wasn't like he'd taken a master class in telling your kid about breaking up with his mother, because he did a pretty shit job of it."

"Dad's still a dick, in case you were wondering." Mikey added, running a hand nervously back through his hair.

"I managed to figure that one out for myself." Gerard sighed, biting his lip, "sorry for being an ass," he added: an apology to the both of them, and one that took Mikey by surprise again.

"So wait, did you hear what I said to Frank about him?" Mikey asked, stumbling over his words as he still found himself struggling to really get his head around the whole ghost thing, but then again, it really wasn't like you could blame him.

Gerard nodded, "yeah, you should have kicked him the fuck out of my funeral, Mikey, I didn't want him there."

Mikey sighed a little, "I think Pete would have honestly killed me, I mean, Pete gets that I don't like him, but he's still clinging onto this 'he's your father' bullshit, but I barely know him, and I know him to be nothing more than an asshole, so he's... he's just some guy who isn't nice to me."

"Speaking of Pete..." Frank spoke up, "what are you going to say to him about Gerard?"

Mikey shrugged, "could just let him walk in while Gerard's there and see how the fuck he reacts, what do you think?"

Gerard laughed a little at that, "aren't you going to get all worried when he faints?"

" _When_?" Frank raised his eyebrows a little.

"I just have that effect on people. You just can't handle me." He winked a little, smirking.

"I didn't fucking faint." Frank reminded him, "I was trying to convince myself you just didn't exist more than anything," he turned to Mikey, "that didn't work out, _evidently_."

"You could just not tell him about me if you want, I could disappear again, I don't mind-" Gerard offered.

"No," Mikey shook his head, "I think Pete should know, and I want you two to stick around for a while, you know? You can't just fucking run off again - I'm _not_ letting you do that." He paused, "you could stay in your old room, couldn't you?"

"We'd have to wash the sheets, you know?" Gerard added, smirking.

Mikey slapped him, but who could blame him?

-


	29. Gerard The Ghost Uncle

Gerard grimaced a little.

They could both hear Mikey and Pete downstairs.

Mikey had opted to explain it all to Pete, of course, after he'd seen Gerard, and successfully _not_ fainted, but generally freaked the fuck out, which was, of course, understandable, if not a little amusing, but by the sounds of it, Mikey wasn't having that great of a time explaining it to him.

Frank was attempting to change the sheets from Gerard's bed; the two stood in silence, in the silence of a room untouched for ten years, but now suddenly Gerard's again, suddenly _theirs_ again. Neither objected to the idea, but still, they didn't exactly know _what_ to think of it.

Gerard wasn't helping, as usual, but at least he'd shut the fuck up, making no snide comments this time, just stood back against the wall - his bedroom wall, not even staring at Frank's ass, but stood there, _thinking_.

"I feel sorry for Mikey," Gerard said out of nowhere, and probably for the first time in his life, shocking Frank a little as he did so.

"Mmm?" Came Frank's response, pulling the sheets off the bed and throwing them on the floor in a heap, before attempting to pull over the clean ones they'd gotten out of the cupboard.

"I should be there to explain it with him, shouldn't I?" Gerard bit his lip, running a hand back through his hair.

"I think Pete seeing you was enough." Frank added, pulling the duvet over the bed, before standing back and admiring his work, well, admiring was perhaps an overstatement, he was just glad he was done.

Gerard shrugged, "I don't know. It's complicated, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Frank nodded, turning around and picking the sheets up, "where do you think I should put these? Like dump them out in the hall, or-"

" _Frank_." Gerard's eyes widened, looking at him, or looking at anything properly since Pete had gotten home, having found himself in somewhat of a haze of thoughts: a messy mind and a guilty conscience at work.

"Yeah?" Frank asked, a little confused as he met Gerard's eyes.

"You-... y-you..." Gerard stuttered out, unsure what to make of what he saw, whether it could be anything, or in particular if it could be what he thought it to be.

"I? What?" Frank grew impatient and increasingly concerned.

"Your face, you just, you've got-" Gerard pointed loosely towards his face, "a mark-"

Frank rolled his eyes, "not really the end of the world is it?" Making his way across the room and over to the mirror, he looked himself over, and found that Gerard was indeed correct, confirmed by the presence of a seemingly unexplainable red mark upon his cheek.

"How did it get there?" Gerard asked, his tone a little panicked, and perhaps unnecessarily so, as he made his way over to Frank, meeting his reflection in the mirror.

Frank shrugged: unable to place as to why Gerard could _possibly_ be so concerned with one little red mark upon his face. "I don't know. Probably just banged it on something, maybe rubbed it, I rest my hand on my face a lot - could be that. Come on, Gerard, it's not exactly life threatening, is it? You don't need to get all overprotective boyfriend right now."

Gerard forced a smile, biting his lip, as he considered telling Frank, telling him what he thought to be true, but there was a part of him certain that Frank already had a lot on his mind, and that perhaps once they'd been here a few days and things had calmed down would be a better time to approach it, or if it happened again, because then he definitely couldn't avoid the truth.

Because that mark upon Frank's face, should have been on his own, from where Mikey had slapped him.

Much like the small burn on Frank's foot from when he'd stood on that drawing he'd set on fire, in order to put it out - something he hadn't thought any consequence of, but it was evident that there was always more to it.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Gerard said after a minute, forcing himself to shrug it off for the time being, glancing back to the old sheets dumped on the floor, "just dump them outside," he gestured back to the sheets, "Mikey can deal with them - it's his house."

"Technically yours too." Frank added, shrugging a little.

"Not really." Gerard sighed, "stopped being my house when I stopped being alive, didn't it? Anyway, it was never _my_ house when I was alive, it was mum's house, and now she- now she's... yeah... now she's passed it down to Mikey and Pete... it's _their_ house."

"So therefore we can take no responsibility for the laundry?" Frank asked, a small smile on his lips.

"I guess so." Gerard laughed a little, "take them outside, though, they smell a little."

Frank rolled his eyes, adding a barely audible, "like you," before picking the sheets up and dumping them right outside their bedroom door, just like he was a fucking teenage boy, but whatever, Mikey could complain all he liked.

"They're still talking." Frank announced as he closed the door again. He found that Gerard had sat down on the now clean enough bed, with his legs crossed and an odd look upon his face.

"I'm just so fascinating - no one can shut up about me." Gerard smirked a little, gesturing for Frank to sit down beside him.

"Of _course_." Frank rolled his eyes, sitting down across from Gerard, letting his eyes wander around Gerard's bedroom and getting a _serious_ sense of nostalgia.

"Yeah..." Gerard trailed off, biting his lip, "I... I just... the last time we were on this bed together, I..."

"We don't have to talk about it, Gee-"

"I think I need to." Gerard let out a sigh, glancing up at the ceiling, "I'm sorry."

"You can see it, can't you?" Frank asked, referring to the memory of what had occurred.

Gerard nodded, "and I can see you, after I left, and I can see now how much of an ass I was. Fuck, am I always so hard to deal with?"

"Not so much anymore. You've gotten easier to deal with after you died, truth be told."

"Well, I'm glad we got that out of it at least."

-

"So, your brother's dead but not dead and you're just so fucking _cool_ with that?" Pete looked Mikey over in disbelief: finding himself honestly unsure as to how the fuck he was supposed to be reacting to all of this.

"Well I'm not just _cool_ , it's not like, oh he's a ghost, whatever-" Mikey cut himself off, letting out a sigh, "it's just... I'm trying not to freak the fuck out about it, because seriously, what does that help? Nothing. It helps nothing. He's here, he's back, and honestly, I'm happy about that, because I get to see my brother again, and our kids will have an uncle."

"A ghost uncle." Pete corrected him: his words little more than a mutter, as he glanced at Mikey from across the kitchen.

" _Pete_ , come on, don't you know that a ghost uncle sounds like the coolest thing in the world?" Mikey exclaimed, and Pete fucking knew it was true, like _hell_ , he wanted a ghost uncle, but being the responsible fun killing parent he was, he knew that his kids most certainly could _not_ have one.

"It does." He admitted after a second, "but-"

"Anyway, it's not like he's a white sheet dude, he's just _Gerard_. He looks like a person, he _is_ a person. I even hugged him - what's up with that, I don't know. I don't understand how this works at all, you can ask him to explain it in detail if you want to, but he's Gerard, he's my brother Gerard except he can walk through objects and disappear."

"Oh..." Pete raised his eyebrows, "isn't it _weird_ though, like that's your _brother_ , that's Gerard? We went to his funeral, we cried there, and-"

"And, yes, he still _is_ dead." Mikey continued, "but this is just what happens after you die, sometimes, anyway. He said becoming a ghost doesn't happen unless you're emotionally connected to 'this world', like _tethered_ or something, I don't know, I'm not the expert-"

"So what's connecting him?" Pete asked, despite the ever-growing agitated look in Mikey's eyes.

"How about you ask him, Pete?" Mikey suggested, letting out a sigh, before answering his question regardless. "Frank. He's connected to Frank. They're together. Still, again, whatever."

"So Frank's dating your dead brother?" Pete reiterated: somehow just quite unable to get it into his head, but then again, it wasn't the most conventional of things, so you could understand where he was coming from here.

"Y-yes." Mikey nodded, running it back through his own head this time. "As weird as it sounds, yes."

"Why did he kill himself then if he still loves Frank or whatever-"

" _Pete_ , you can seriously shut the fuck up right now." Mikey's tone suddenly grew in volume and anger became suddenly rather present in his voice. "He's mentally ill. It's clear you don't understand a thing about mental illness so please don't pretend you, because whether he's a ghost or not, he's my brother, and I love him."

"Is he still as much of an asshole, though?" Pete asked after a moment, "because, okay a ghost uncle, but a shit uncle-"

"I haven't spent that much time with him obviously, but I actually think he's changed a little, and for the best." Mikey smiled, his eyes growing wide as he looked past his husband, Pete Wentz, his husband, and noticed a certain black haired figure in the door. "So you're eavesdropping?"

"Not intentionally." Gerard let out a sigh, throwing Pete an awkward smile as he turned around.

Pete stood there in silence for what felt like forever as he pulled his gaze over Gerard and struggled to comprehend as to how he stood there and looked so alive, so real, so human, just the same as he had done back when they were eighteen.

" _Sure_." Mikey rolled his eyes: unconvinced, and a little agitated but far too overjoyed to see his brother again to even consider the possibility of being properly mad at him right now.

"N-nice hair," Pete stuttered out, not quite meeting Gerard's gaze, and instead choosing to fixate upon his now black hair.

"Thanks." Gerard said casually, glancing between the two, having not quite _fully_ accepted the fact that this was his brother's husband, and effectively- in fact, not just effectively, but _literally_ , his brother in law, and they had kids - _his_ nephews. He was an uncle, and already he knew that he was absolutely certain to be the world's worst uncle. "Nice kids," he added in response, before realising how awkward that sounded, "okay, that came out wrong, I just- you know what I mean... you're my brother in law now, and your kids are cute... kids with my brother... my nephews... I am not ready to be an uncle, you know that?" He laughed a little, glancing back at Mikey. "You didn't give me any warning."

"Yeah, and you didn't give any of us any fucking warning when you killed yourself." Pete spat back in response before he could stop himself.

Gerard's eyes widened, and he seemed to go paler than he already was, although, considering the fact that he was dead, he wasn't sure that was entirely possible. "Sorry." He uttered after a moment, "I'm sorry. I really am. I was in a bad state of mind. I was fucked up as it was, and then it was a fucked up day, and-"

" _I'm_ sorry." Pete finished for him. "I shouldn't have said that: I didn't mean to say that."

"It's okay," Gerard shrugged a little, brushing his hair away from his face, "Frank said I should explain myself: this ghost thing, you know?" He glanced across at his brother, "he reckons you don't know what you're saying."

Mikey laughed a little at that, "he's kind of right."

Gerard shrugged, "there's not all that much to it, well _basically_. I mean, if you want to get philosophical or even _scientific_ about it, then yeah, it's kind of messy and fucked up, but if you want to look at it, just as it is, then it's pretty basic. So I'm basically tied down to this world so I can't move onto whatever happens when you die, which I don't know for sure yet, and some people go there straight away if they're not tied down to anything, or if there's not a strong enough connection or whatever, but basically I'm connected to Frank and my body, and the closer I am to those two things, the more 'real' I appear, and basically the more control I have over my form and my own thoughts. That sounds kind of weird and a little complicated, but the further away I am from Frank, the harder it is for me to appear visible to everyone, it's an energy thing, and he's... he's like the source of the energy, I don't know, you know I fucking failed science at school, but when we were in New York, other people couldn't see me unless I was physically touching Frank because I was further away from my body, but here it's different. I'm 'stronger', if you want to be cliché about it."

"And you just... like how did you even come to realise that you were a ghost?" Pete found himself asking, speaking before he could think about it, which was perhaps not the best method, especially considering that the subject of conversation was indeed Gerard's death.

"Well, I figured it out, I mean, I've had a lot of time, and when you first die you have very little control over what's happening at all, but I've had years of just _thoughts_ to pull myself together and into being able to control my form and well, act like a 'person'. Some people never manage it, some people take ages to do so, some people get it more easily, it varies. But I was connected to Frank, basically, following him around, for years... which sounds weird, and it kind of _is_ weird, but-"

"It is weird." Frank added, appearing in the door way, in an almost unnerving manner. He then turned to the younger Way brother, "Mikey, your baby's crying. I tried to do something but I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing so I stopped before I killed your kid. Maybe it's hungry. It doesn't smell like shit, so-"

" _It_?" Mikey raised his eyebrows, laughing a little. " _He_. And anyway, there are two kids. Louis is the older one and Harry is the younger one."

"It was the older one- _Louis_." Frank corrected himself, blushing a little, "I'm not good with kids." He paused, before gesturing at Mikey, "go stop your baby crying."

Mikey rolled his eyes, before getting up and going to do so, leaving Pete with Gerard and Frank, who shared an awkward look across the room.

"Hey Pete," Frank added in Pete's direction: a certain uncomfortable awkwardness held power over their conversation.

"Hey." Pete responded, brushing his fringe: still emo as fuck, even at age twenty eight, out of his face.

"You know?" Pete asked, again, before he could stop himself, "how the fuck did you exactly come to just accept that Gerard's a ghost, because it seems like everyone's doing so like it's no fucking problem and I'm still here barely managing to get my head around it?"

Frank and Gerard shared a laugh at that one. "I mean, I don't know," Frank began, shrugging, "he just wouldn't leave me the fuck alone until I believed him. He's stubborn like that, and then... then well it was just _Gerard_ and I missed him and I wanted to spend more time with him, so it was a good thing. Something I _wanted_ to accept. I think Mikey's like that - Mikey is more than happy to accept that his brother's back."

"It's not like that!" Pete exclaimed, "I don't hate you, Gerard-"

"That's not what I'm saying." Frank cut him off, "I mean, you just weren't as close to him: you got over him, neither Mikey nor I really ever did, and that sounds really fucking sappy, but it's how it is."

"Oh..." Pete trailed off, biting his lip: deep in thought.

"It's fine." Gerard assured him, "I'm not taking offence. I mean, obviously, you don't hate me, and anyway, if you did, I think Mikey wouldn't be very happy with you, and Mikey means more to you than anything does, so-"

" _Gerard, I-"_

"Sorry..." He trailed off, "it's just a ghost thing... emotions... and things, are just very obvious to me. Other people's. I don't really have my own anymore. They're more of a reflection of Frank's, not _fully_ , and it's kind of complicated, but through the connection thing, I'm upset when he's upset, angry when he's angry, you know?"

Pete nodded, "is that why you've learned to calm the fuck down and not be so up your own ass now?" He laughed a little: just to assure Gerard knew he was being light hearted, "because Frank's not like that."

"Could be," Gerard shrugged a little. "But I have changed as person. In my thoughts. I have thoughts. In fact, I think I have more thoughts than I did when I was alive. I think a lot. I don't sleep anymore, so I just sit and think about things for like eight hours everyday, so I have a lot of thoughts."

"Good, because I don't think you ever thought anything through when you were alive."

Gerard nodded, "yeah," he let out a sigh, "I know that now-"

" _Hey_ ," Frank interjected, "could we maybe talk about something that isn't how Gerard's dead? Don't you think he's gotten bored of it all by now?"

Gerard shrugged a little, "Frank, it's fine, I just want people to understand-"

"No, it's fine." Pete interrupted him, "we could talk about anything you want- hey, do you...?" He trailed off, a small smile on his lips, "so do you want to hold your nephews?"

Gerard's eyes went wide. "If I drop them-"

"You won't." Frank spoke for him, "come on," he gestured upstairs with a smile.

-


	30. Gerard Way, Ghost Daddy

"See, you're not _so_ bad with kids, are you?" Frank laughed a little, sat down on the chair in one corner of the nursery, watching as Gerard stood up, holding Louis in his hands, even somewhat safely, which was shocking on all counts.

"No, you're actually not." Mikey added: lingering in the doorway, due to the fact that Pete was calling him from downstairs to help with Harry or something like that, but Mikey was really far more concerned with making sure that his brother didn't drop his kid and end up killing him, because yeah, ghost brother - that, Mikey could deal with, but ghost baby? No.

"I'm honoured." Gerard laughed a little, letting Louis move into his chest a little.

"I'm surprised." Mikey interjected: the world's widest grin on his face.

"No, he'd be good. I knew this. I saw this coming." Frank shook his head, "cause he likes to think that this isn't his thing, but secretly he has a soft spot-"

"Okay-" Gerard rolled his eyes, "Mikey's kids, yeah, Mikey's kids are cute, but I don't want my own kids - like full time parenting, not something I could deal with. I can handle holding a kid but not wiping shit out of their ass."

Frank grimaced at the mental image. "I think I agree with you on that one."

"I'm like the cool uncle anyway." Gerard exclaimed: grin on his face.

"No one's cooler than the ghost uncle." Frank rolled his eyes a little, "Uncle Spooky - that's you."

"Please don't." Gerard protested, only half meaning it.

"Uncle Spooky Skeleton." Frank continued, fucking _grinning_ like hell.

Mikey promptly left. Because yeah, Frank could fucking take responsibility over his kids not dying if he was going to make fucking spooky skeleton jokes.

"You scared him off, Uncle Spooky-" Frank continued, giggling like a fucking idiot by this point.

"You're the _worst_." Gerard proclaimed, glancing down at Louis and then at Gerard, "you wanna hold Mikey's weird kid named after the gay one out of One Direction?"

"The gay one?" Frank raised his eyebrows at that. "There's more than one homosexual in One Direction, come on, Gerard, don't be silly, but give me the fucking kid, whatever."

"You don't sound like a very enthusiastic sort of not really uncle." Gerard shook his head in disappointment, before somewhat tentatively handing Frank the kid.

"Oh fuck off, you." Frank rolled his eyes, taking Louis into his arms and smiling a little, "Mikey's got cute kids, hasn't he?"

"Mmm..." Gerard nodded, "we'd have cute kids, because we're cute, but we're not gonna have kids okay, we can observe Mikey's just fine."

"Because we're cute." Frank scoffed, "not how it works."

"Mmm...." Gerard nodded, "good it isn't, because we wouldn't want a hypothetical ghost baby would we?"

Frank shrugged at that. "Anyway, ghost uncle is much better than ghost dad."

Gerard smirked to himself, "ghost daddy."

"Please don't." Frank seriously considered punching himself in the face in that moment.

"You should call me ghost daddy. I can be your ghost daddy-"

"Gerard you can stop being my boyfriend if you don't shut the _fuck_ up..." Frank trailed off, shaking his head, but meeting Gerard's gaze with a small smile, just to ensure that he knew he was joking, because honestly, as much of an ass as Gerard was, he would never dump him, not for the world.

"That's fucking harsh, Frankie, be nice to your ghost daddy." Gerard smirked again, watching as Frank cringed.

"Please don't call yourself that." He exclaimed, passing Louis back to Gerard- his _ghost daddy_.

"I'll call myself what I want." Gerard insisted, grinning a little, placing Louis back in his bed and making his way over to Frank.

"Please shut up." Frank let out a sigh: his tone hushed, quieter as the distance between them decreased. "I love you, but you're literally the worst."

Gerard nodded, "I know." He pressed a kiss to Frank's forehead. "Do you think Mikey trusts me or not?" He asked after a moment: hesitance evident in his voice.

Frank found himself a little taken a back by his question. "Of course he does- he's your _brother_."

"Not like that, I mean..." Gerard trailed off, brushing his hair away from his face, "like _trusts_ me, like you know, properly. Because I feel like maybe that's something like... he doesn't just a little."

"Is this about you holding Louis because-" Frank found himself cut off by a shake of Gerard's head.

"No, well, partly, but _no_." He let out a sigh, "just the little things. It's like me killing myself really _permanently_ fucked things up."

"Well it did." Frank found himself saying, and rather bitterly indeed. "You get that, don't you?"

Gerard nodded, "course I do, it's just... it's been a while now, hasn't it-"

"Not for them. Yeah, I'm used to it, but Mikey's not used to this at all. You need to give it time, be patient for once, even. They'll get used to you again, it's just that you haven't seen them in ten years, it's like the normal amount that trust would fade in that time." Frank reassured him, "it's nothing that isn't going to revert back to how it should be in time, I promise you."

"You promise?" Gerard asked, smiling a little as he pressed a kiss to Frank's lips this time.

"Course I do." Frank laughed it off, pulling away, "we probably shouldn't make out in front of Mikey's kid."

Gerard shrugged, "remember when we made out on that swing and Mikey like stalked us to the park when you were still seventeen?" He laughed a little, blushing.

"Mikey hated me after that." Frank groaned, shaking his head in disbelief, "you're a terrible influence."

"I think he's forgiven you now, though," Gerard placed a hand on his shoulder in what was literally the shittiest form of reassurance ever.

"You don't say, it's been ten years, he's not as stubborn as you, Gee," he grinned up at him with that.

"Course he's not, I'm the most stubborn motherfucking ghost daddy on this planet." He proclaimed rather loudly: an unbelieving smug grin upon his face, making evident that he was far too proud of himself.

Frank punched himself in the face.

-

The two lay out on Gerard’s bed at something like ten at night; the window lay half open, letting in a breeze that was perhaps just a little too cold for Frank's liking, but he really couldn't muster the energy required to get up and out of a warm, comfortable bed with his boyfriend to walk _all_ the way across the room and close the window, like seriously, that was just _too_ much.

"You're cold," Gerard began, breaking the silence - it had never been an awkward silence, mutual, a comfortable silence, perhaps - just a lack of words to fill conversation with, and they'd honestly gotten just a little bit further past the stage of awkward conversation.

Frank bit his lip, meeting Gerard’s gaze and sighing a little, "you can read my thoughts and you use that power to tell me that I'm cold, something that maybe, just maybe, I might have already figured out for myself?" Frank raised his eyebrows a little, laughing.

Gerard rolled his eyes in response, getting up from the bed, leaving Frank to watch him with a certain intrigue as he made his way over to the window and shut it properly. "I can't read your mind," Gerard reminded him, for something like the seven millionth time, or at least it felt as such on Gerard's part.

"Just feel my emotions. Read my emotions, whatever." Frank rolled his eyes: more grateful than he'd ever let on for Gerard being nice enough to close the window for him. "How is cold even an emotion?"

"I can feel a bit more than your emotions, it's hard to explain, you know put into words, but like... I mean, I see things differently, being dead, as well, which is perhaps harder to explain, but when you're alive, you're just looking at things around you - they come simply, like you're stood in a 3D video, or something, I don't know, but as a ghost, it's like you get a _sense_ of the objects around you, you feel their physical and emotional presence before you see that they're green, or whatever."

"That's really quite interesting, actually." Frank said after a moment, leaning into Gerard's side as he joined him back on the bed. "Is that to do with the memories thing, because you _feel_ them, like everyone feels their memories, but since you like, your vision is more connected to what you feel, then you see them... like projections?"

"I actually hadn't thought-" Gerard's eyes widened, sitting up a little, " _fuck_ , yeah, I think you've got it there." He glanced around the room, as if reminding himself how to see, " _yeah_... I... _yeah_... it's a lot all like a projection, honestly. It's weird."

"I'm dating a guy who died over ten years ago, I think weird isn't all that much of an issue for me, being brutally honest." Frank let out a laugh, meeting Gerard's gaze as he did so. "It's really intriguing, you know? I'm actually maybe even a little looking forward to seeing it myself, like when I die, even if that's in like fifty years time, or whatever."

"Don't talk about you dying," Gerard shook his head, biting his lip, "I don't like it."

"And you're _actually_ dead." Frank's tone grew stern, "I don't like that either, but that doesn't mean I'm fucking treading around the subject or getting pissed about it. I've accepted it, and, being human, I'm going to die someday - accept that."

" _Frank_... I-"

"I'm sorry," Frank let out a sigh, shaking his head, "I overreact with you, and I really shouldn't-"

"Frank, _you_ overreact?" Gerard pulled Frank into his chest and laughed a little, "I'm the one who killed himself after we had one argument."

Gerard's tone was lighthearted, perhaps even unbelievably so, but still, Frank stayed silent for a moment: unsure quite how to process just what Gerard had just said. "It wasn't just that, though." He said after a moment, "you know that."

Gerard nodded, "course. I'm just saying, and anyway, it's fine. I love you, and you love me, well at least I'm pretty damn sure you do, and we're okay right now." He brushed his hair away from his face, "it's just _weird_ being back here, don't you think, like I can't stop thinking about all the time we spent here before, back when you were eighteen, even seventeen, and... just, wow..." Gerard trailed off, losing himself in his thoughts for a couple of moments, "did you think that when you were twenty eight you'd still be with me? What did you think when you were eighteen?"

Frank shrugged, "honestly, I didn't have a clue, I didn't really think so much about it all, but there was this one part that was so fucking determined to have the world's best life as soon as I finished school and got out of here, because this had all fucking sucked, like my teenage years were perhaps even _exceptionally_ abysmal, but that didn't really happen did it? Being in a mental hospital until I was twenty five was definitely not something I'd planned for, still being with you at twenty eight seems like nothing in comparison."

"I'm sorry." Gerard tugged at Frank's hand.

"What for?"

"That's my fault. I fucked that up for you. If you'd never met me, or if I'd never killed myself, then you'd have never wasted so much of your life away in there, and it wasn't 'okay', because I was there with you, so don't try and bullshit me about that, Frank." Gerard sighed, biting at his fingernails, "that's one of the main reasons I'm putting the effort in to be a better person now - I just can't risk fucking things up for you, _again_."

Frank only shrugged in response, because _technically_ , Gerard was right, Frank just didn't dare to say he was. Instead, he avoided it with a question. "What did you think? Did you think we'd be together now, ten years later?"

"I didn't see myself living to be any older than twenty five." Gerard said after a moment, "that had always been set in my mind, and well, I didn't see myself remaining here, as a ghost. I thought you died, and that was it - nothing of it, no heaven, no hell, no inbetween, just _nothing_. And then I was wrong and I knew that ten seconds after I'd died, fucking ten seconds too late, because if I'd have known that I'd stayed here, but just as a ghost, then I wouldn't have done it, I swear to fucking god I'd never have thought about it."

"So, it was always going to be like that?" Frank asked, biting down on his bottom lip tentatively, "even if things went as well as they possibly could have? I'd be twenty, and you'd be turning twenty five, and I'd see that you'd killed yourself, and that'd you'd just _left_ me... it was _always_ going to be like-"

"Frank, if things had gone as well as they possibly could have for another two years afterwards, I think you would have managed to change my mind about all of that. Because I love you, always have, and if things hadn't gone to shit, then I'd never want to leave. It's like now, I can't bare the thought of leaving you in any way, shape, or form, I _love_ you."

"But it _was_ going to be-"

"Before I met you." Gerard insisted, reaching for Frank's hand, "you changed everything. I told you, Mikey told you, I think everyone told you, I was in a much worse place before I met you."

"I can't imagine that, you were quite fucked up, even then- _fuck_ , I don't want to imagine that." Frank curled up closer into Gerard's side.

"Honestly, it sounds fucked up, but I think my death saved our relationship, long term, at least, because you know me, old me, alive me, fucked up in the head, manic, suicidal, manipulative me, and then me, me who finally felt loss and what it was like to be wrong and so fucking sorry, and then not having my own rampant emotions helps."

"I feel like all we ever talk about is your death." Frank said after a moment, "and that's kind of weird, isn't it?"

Gerard shrugged, "well it's better than us ignoring it, isn't it? It's good that we can talk about things and that we're comfortable with it, now at least, and well, ignoring it was never going to change the fact that it happened, was it?"

"I think you grew some brain cells when you died, honestly." Frank sighed, letting Gerard wrap his arm around him as he pulled him into his side.

"I'm not quite sure how the fuck that could have worked, if I'm honest." Gerard smiled, running his fingers down Frank's back, "then again, none of this makes all that much sense in the first place, does it?"

"Yeah," Frank laughed a little, looking up at the ceiling, "we had sex in this bed the last day we spent together when you were alive," he said, perhaps a little out of the blue.

"I'm aware." Gerard added, raising his eyebrows a little.

"It was good sex, fuck, I can't even really remember what we'd gotten into that argument about..." Frank trailed off, "doesn't fucking matter though... didn't matter, and... it did, did to us then at least... and now we're here again, and-"

"And I never thought I'd set foot in my bedroom again, see you again, fuck, somehow I was just so _angry_ that I was perfectly happy with storming out and letting our last conversation be an argument." Gerard shook his head firmly, "I hate that."

"And here we are, talking about it again. All we fucking talk about." Frank groaned a little, "I love you," he added, pressing a kiss to Gerard's lip, "I love you an awful lot."

"Love you too."

"You're good with kids, somehow, you are," Frank said, "you're good with Louis and Harry, I can tell. I think you're better with them than Pete is, but don't tell him I said that because I'd rather not get attacked by someone who's still painfully emo at age twenty eight."

"You're still emo." Gerard laughed, running a hand back through Frank's hair, "you've got your emo hair, Frankie."

"You're the fucking queen of emo, then," Frank rolled his eyes, looking up at his boyfriend and tugging at a lock of dyed black hair, "with your fucking black hair dye."

"Well, you see, _technically_ I'm still twenty two, so I'm not 'still emo' at twenty eight-"

"You just don't want to even consider the possibility of being thirty two." Frank laughed, playing with Gerard's fingers, "you're _old_." He giggled a little, "thirty two's like _middle aged_."

"You've got to be at least forty to be middle aged, Frank, don't be fucking stupid," Gerard rolled his eyes, looking away.

"Oh, yeah, because those absolutely _youthful_ thirty nine year olds, yeah, they're not middle aged at all-"

"Shut up." Gerard was desperately glad that he couldn't blush, being dead. "I'm not fucking middle aged-"

"Okay grandpa-"

Gerard narrowed his eyes, smirking, "that's, _ghost daddy_ , to you."

"I am _not_ calling you that, you can fuck right off," Frank groaned, turning away in disbelief.

"You so _are_ ," He pulled his arms around Frank, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, "you love it, secretly, you do."

"Fuck _off_." Frank rolled his eyes, attempting to move out of Gerard’s grasp, but he only pulled him closer, pressing what was definitely becoming a hickey into the back of his neck. " _Gee_ , I-"

"Love it?" Gerard pulled away, giggling, "you love it- knew it."

" _Please_ stop fucking calling yourself that... it's horrific, it really is, it's the worst thing I've ever heard-"

"Hey..." Gerard mused, "I'll stop, as long as you ask me properly, because you know, you're _not_ making it _explicitly_ clear what you want me to stop calling myself."

Frank groaned in disbelief, "you're an ass."

"Not calling myself that, am I?"

Frank rolled his eyes, " _fine_. Stop calling yourself ghost daddy."

Gerard burst into laughter, kissing Frank again, "absolutely fucking never."

-


	31. this whole chapter is literally a conversation wow lmao

It was way too early, Mikey reckoned he'd woken up by accident. In fact, he couldn't even remember just _what_ had him awake, but he did know that he'd found himself lying in bed unable to get back to sleep for long enough to render himself _tired_ of the process, and with that, he'd gotten out of bed and made his way downstairs, and still it was little more than ten minutes past six on a Saturday, and with that he'd made himself a cup of coffee and grabbed his cigarettes and made his way out onto the back porch.

He honestly didn't know why he'd gone outside, considering that it was Winter and cold as fuck, but somehow he wasn't actually freezing his tits off out on the porch and actually found some comfort in the cool morning air and the silence of the world, because yes, absolutely fucking no one was and would be awake for a good few hours.

Mikey was certain of that.

Right up until the very moment he remembered that Gerard didn't sleep anymore.

And that moment was the very one in which Gerard seemed to materialise out of nowhere and sit down beside him, because Mikey was honestly struggling to keep up, but then again, it wasn't like it was the easiest thing to follow in the world.

"Morning," Gerard uttered, glancing across at Mikey's coffee and hating being dead and not able to have it.

"Morning," Mikey replied: a little taken aback, "could you maybe just walk through the door like a normal person instead of popping out of nowhere?"

Gerard shrugged, "I _could_ , but it's more fun, isn't it?"

Mikey rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee. "Suppose."

"Don't get all pissy, you should be happy because you're the one who can drink coffee. You know I've gone ten years without coffee or anything like that! It's _insane_. I mean, I don't _crave_ it anymore like that's impossible, but I'm still jealous of you and your fucking coffee." He rolled his eyes a little.

"What happens if you try to drink it?" Mikey asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as he sipped his coffee: the way Gerard was staring at him like a vulture circling its prey wasn't helping at all.

"It goes through me." Gerard laughed a little. "That's what happened last time... I made contact with a liquid..."

"And what liquid was that?" Mikey asked, all too naive.

"Frank's come." Gerard said, all too nonchalantly, just before common sense could kick in and remind him that he was indeed a fucking idiot.

"Oh..." Mikey trailed off, his eyes widening, " _lovely_." He took another sip of his coffee, "nice to know the whole you being dead thing isn't stopping you two from fucking."

"Yeah. it is." Gerard smiled, leaving Mikey was a disgusted expression upon his face. "It's not that bad being dead, really, like sure I can't drink coffee but that's like the worst of it-"

"It is bad." Mikey snapped, meeting his brother's gaze, "it was hell." He put the mug of coffee down. "I don't think you quite get it, still, even though you definitely seem to have a better grasp of things and emotions now compared to as you did when you were alive, which really doesn't make sense, but... I don't think you understand what it's like to have your _brother_ die - your big brother, the person you've seen everyday for the entirety of your life and then never again. You were like my best friend and my worst enemy all at once, and now you're just... just... you're back but it's not the same anymore."

"I know it can't be the _same_ , Mikey, but it can be okay again-"

"No, Gerard, you don't get it, you don't fucking get that you were the one person I was close to, that we knew everything about one another, and we had this weird kind of relationship, in that we hated each other, but we'd die for each other and protect one another at any cost, and that was all I had been doing to get you to hate me - protecting you. And then suddenly, I don't have a brother anymore because he's killed himself, and you know what I do have? A grieving mother who won't stop crying but has to pull herself together because she's got another son who doesn't know what the fuck to do and keeps going on long walks and considering never coming back home, who considers killing himself because nothing seems to ever quite fit without his brother-"

"You-"

"And then he doesn't know what the fuck to think when this guy suddenly comes home and his mum has to introduce him to his father because he can't remember who the fuck this guy is, because he means nothing in his life and in all of this, but he pretends to and he spends too much time with mum and then _I_ had to deal with the rest of the mess, because mum had dad. And I had to worry about Frank who clearly was never going to get better and stayed at our house for weeks and wouldn't stop crying at night and barely left the house and nearly dropped out of high school because he lost the boy he was in love with. I had to go to my brother's funeral, at age eighteen and I had to watch my mother cry, I had to watch my brother being put into the ground, and worst of all I had to watch my father pull some bullshit and act like he'd ever given a single shit. I had to watch him stick around, I had to learn to hate him in such a short space of time, and then I had to watch as Frank got _worse_ and worse to the point where we _had_ to do something about it, and then I had to watch my best friend go to live in a mental hospital. I had to listen to my father lying to me and telling me that it was all okay, and I had to listen to my mother believing him. And on top of all of that, I'd lost my _brother_ , my brother, you, fucking dead, dead, and you'd barely written a paragraph of a suicide note, fuck, it was like you hadn't even cared, and I had to deal with people at school, people you'd known, people like Bert and that girl you'd dated once when you were like sixteen, coming up to me and asking me why you'd done it, and I had to tell them that not even _I_ had the slightest fucking clue in the world. And I'd tell them I was sorry, and you fucking know why I did that? Because it all felt like my fault? Because maybe I'd pushed you too far, because we hadn't been on great terms, but you know what? You wrote a paragraph. And I believed I'd never know. I believed that this would be my life forever, and then you fucking popped up out of nowhere, and fucking laughed at me for fainting."

"I'm so _sorry_ , I-"

"So fucking tell me that 'it wasn't that bad', I dare you, Gerard."

Gerard paused for a moment, looking down, deep in an odd kind of thought of a matter he'd thought about regularly, but never quite so directly. There was something undeniably odd about this whole ordeal, about having the aftermath of your death described to you in such detail. It was perhaps something that never should happen, and Gerard could certainly say he was feeling the effects of it.

"So people cared?" He asked after a moment, and ended up sounding more than a little ridiculous as he did so.

" _Fuck_ , Gerard, of _course_ people cared, are you being fucking serious right now?" Mikey exclaimed, looking at his brother in disbelief: forever unable to unravel his trains of thought, and really even get a vague idea as to how his head worked.

"I just..." He trailed off, picking at the material of his jeans, "I know, I mean, you and Frank like.... and mum... and like... you were upset and I... I mean like... other people like people I barely even knew or like vague friends or like... Bert... people like Bert cared?"

" _Yes_." Mikey looked at his brother in disbelief. "Of course people cared."

Gerard sat there for a moment, just in silence, just in thought, direct thought and the pure gravity of it all. "People cared." He repeated, more to himself than to Mikey.

"Yeah..." Mikey trailed off, pulling his gaze away from his brother and taking a moment to wonder just what the hell went on inside Gerard's head on a regular basis.

"Fucking funny how people only care when you're dead, isn't it?" Gerard's tone suddenly grew rather snappy.

"That's not strictly true-"

"What about Van Gogh? Because no one gave a shit about him when he was alive. Killed himself as well. Now he's dead, now people care." Gerard bit his lip, pausing, "and statues of people, only made after their death, the thing is, you have to die to be relevant, to matter, to be frozen in time in the image of yourself people want you to be, because alive, alive you're volatile, you're subject to yourself, to your own head, your own opinions, and no one wants that of you. They'll care when they can forget, when they can make a statue and erase all they don't want to hear. Because that's what you do, even if subconsciously, you never think about how you hated your dead grandma's whiny voice or how she could never fully cook meals or how she made fun of your hair, you forget that all, and paint this perfect picture of her in death and mourning. Maybe it's guilt, maybe it's just pathetic sorrow, but lying's never going to bring anyone back."

"Gerard... I don't-"

"I wonder if I am a reflection of just that? Not so much myself, but a manifestation of who people want me to be. Now, especially, drained of emotion, and a reflection of Frank's. Because I was a psychotic mess, and I'm not anymore, am I? And that never quite made sense. Sure, I grew the fuck up. But... you don't remember me as the brother you hated, because who would cry over the brother they hated? Who do you even remember me as?"

"Someone with a lot of shit going on in his head, a million things to say, a million questions to ask and no one there ready to listen until people wanted to, and then he pushed them away." Mikey said after a moment, meeting Gerard's gaze. "People cared when you were alive, of course they did, you just didn't let them for the most part. Mum always worried, always over worried about you, but you didn't let her because you didn't want that."

"That wasn't how I wanted people to care." Gerard let out a sigh.

"You can't dictate how people care and how people feel, how people think, how people react. You think you can, _you_ sure as hell think you can. But look, mum never stopped worrying, she never stopped talking about you. That pissed dad off. He never said so, because he was clinging to this facade of care and love for us, fuck, I don't even know why he stuck around. But, mum always brought you up - it upset her, but she still did. It was always like, if something cool had happened, or something important, like at my graduation or my wedding, or when the new series of that shitty drama with that posh woman she liked started, it was all, 'I wish Gerard was here', and she'd get sad after that, not directly sad, but quiet, and dad would hate it. And he'd ask me to agree with him, that she needed to move on, and I never fucking would because you know what, I wish you were here too. And she'd look at old photos of you, and she'd get sad, but she didn't care, she just wanted to see you, even at your worst, even when you were like living hell, because she wanted even that version of you back."

"Why did she let dad stay? Why did she let him try to stop her?" Gerard asked, unable to directly face the weight of it all.

"Because I think she loved him, or at least she thought he did. You look like dad. She loved _you_ , and you left a hole, he filled it." Mikey looked out across the sunrise, the sky and the horizon, the world. "You never should have killed yourself. You're back, but it's not the same, is it?"

"You want that version of me back?" Gerard looked at his brother in disbelief, "you want the me you hated back?"

"Yes." Mikey's voice cracked a little, "I do."

Gerard let out a sigh, turning away, "circumstances or not, I had always planned to kill myself by twenty five. Would have been dead anyway."

" _Why_?" Mikey snapped, meeting Gerard's gaze with a certain _anger_ that Gerard hadn't found himself expecting.

"Because I didn't want to grow old. Didn't want to grow old and boring, and get a job and get married and have fucking kids. Life gets boring after a while. I wanted to die young and pretty, frozen like that forever."

"You're so fucking _vain_." Mikey snapped, "so fucking stupid as well."

Gerard laughed a little, "I know." He paused for a moment, "it sounds weird, but I honestly just couldn't ever seriously imagine myself growing old and just... being an adult, a proper adult, being thirty two. And if I did ever end up as such I'd be fucked up, maybe homeless or an alcoholic or a heroin addict or something."

"You wouldn't." Mikey insisted. "I wouldn't let you be. Mum wouldn't let you be. Frank wouldn't let you be."

Gerard shrugged, "I can't see myself at thirty two, complacent, bored, 'happy', married, whatever, doesn't add up."

"No one says you _have_ to get married. No one says you have to have a boring life." Mikey pressed, "you could have-"

"Done what? With my bullshit life. I finished high school, that's it."

"You could have gone to art school." Mikey bit his lip, "mum was gonna suggest it, you know? Once you'd gotten a bit better. You're talented, you are."

"And then I could have been the fucking starving artist type. Then I could have been Van Gogh, unappreciated in life, and killed himself at thirty seven, _hey_ , at least I'd have five more years left. Hey, then you'd have me dead at thirty seven instead of twenty two."

"Thirty seven is better than twenty two." Mikey snapped, "then mum wouldn't have to be at her son's funeral."

"I would have to be at hers though. Do you think I would have been able to handle that?"

"What if it hadn't turned to shit?" Mikey asked, "what if you'd done good for yourself, hey what if there’s a version of you in a parallel universe: you at thirty two. As an artist, living happily with Frank, not married if you don't want to be, not with kids if you don't want them, but happy to some degree, and _alive_. My kids would have had an uncle."

"They do- I'm still _here_ I-"

"Not really." Mikey shrugged. "I know this isn't permanent. You're gonna fuck off elsewhere at some point, you're not going to stay in your little brother's house for ever. And I shouldn't want you to, but I miss you, and I love you, Gerard. And it fucking hurts."

"I'm sorry..." Gerard trailed off. "I could still do all that shit now, all that nice life bullshit, if you wanted me to-"

"It's not about _me_ wanting you to, it's about you. It's about _you_ , what do you want?"

Gerard paused at that: unsure. "I don't know..." He trailed off. "I just want everything to be okay and for you and Pete and Frank to be happy."

"Where are you and Frank going to go? What's going to happen? Are you going to go back to New York?" Mikey asked.

"I don't know." Gerard shrugged, "I'd have to ask him, I mean, I don't think we will go back to New York. It's harder there. Maybe we'll stay in Jersey, maybe not in your house, maybe in your house."

"And do what?" Mikey exclaimed, "and do what with your life?"

"I don't have a life anymore, do I?" Gerard laughed a little, "Frank can do whatever he wants, I'm not going to stop him."

"It's like all you care about is him, like there's no sense of _you_ left."

"Maybe I do. Maybe there isn't." Gerard sighed, meeting his brother's eyes, "coming back fully always seems to be too good for to be true, don't you think?"

"I guess..." Mikey trailed off, "but you still are you, to some degree, just like washed out version."

Gerard shrugged, "I could try to be more of myself, but I can't remember what that feels like anymore. Maybe it's with time, maybe the longer I am like this, the more I'm going to fade out, until I'm nothing like who I was before, but a reflection of the world around me."

"Why is everything so fucking poetic with you?" Mikey let out a sigh.

"Why is that a problem to you?" Gerard asked, flashing his brother a smile. "I love you, Mikey."

"Love you too, Gee." Mikey met his brother's gaze. "So this... this shouldn't be permanent. I think... I think you can't stay with Frank for the rest of his life, I think you'd fuck him up again, fading away and all that."

Gee nodded, "I know. Just let me be selfish, just let me have him now, just let me... I don't know, just, I don't want to handle losing him again, not ever, but at least not yet."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before killing yourself."

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, "I just didn't think. Now I'm all thoughts. Regret. More than regret than I've ever had before."

"So if this version of you went back to being twenty two and alive, do you think you'd still kill yourself by twenty five?"

Gerard shook his head, "no, I don't think so. I think I'd stick around a while longer."

-


	32. This Is Where It Starts Getting Traumatic

There was something about waking up in a bed alone, especially when you'd gone to sleep with someone by your side.

There was something _else_ about waking up in a bed alone, with a massive scar down your right side.

Something indeed utterly horrifying, and you couldn't even blame Frank for freaking the absolute fuck out.

He practically leapt to his feet, and indeed regretting doing so, because there was something about a massive scar down your side and suddenly movements that just, you know, _hurt like a motherfucker_.

He let out an odd kind of muffled groan/yelp, as his fingers made their way down his side, poking tentatively at the crimson mark stark against pale skin, as he struggled to recall, struggle to justify, and piece together just how _possibly_ it could have gotten there.

because the thing was that it wasn't just a little scratch, but a massive scar stretching down from half way down his rib cage to the bottom of hip, and it was fucking ugly in nature: jagged in nature, and goddamn fucking horrifying.

Okay, Frank seemed not to be immediately dying and after the initial shock of it all, he was fine, but more than fucking confused, and more than low-key freaking the fuck out, as he stood there in only his boxer shorts just looking at the scar in the mirror.

He jumped a little as the door opened, leaving Gerard stood in the door way, already a little distraught from a certain conversation he'd had with his brother, only to stand there in shock and disbelief, and more than anything worry and confusion, as his gaze fell upon Frank and the scar.

"What the fuck?" He exclaimed, closing the door behind him and rushing over towards Frank, pulling him into his arms. "What's this? What's happened?"

"I don't know!" Frank exclaimed, clinging desperately to Gerard, tears forming in his eyes as he struggled to explain what the fuck was happening even to himself. "I just, I just woke up, and... I woke up and it was there-"

" _Fuck_..." Gerard choked out, glancing down at it again, and his head racing as he struggled to piece it all together, because he hadn't injured himself like that, he hadn't hurt himself at all so far that day or even last night, but there was no realistic way that Frank could have acquired such an injury as he slept, but still it lay there, almost mocking, and yet truly horrifying.

"I couldn't have done that in my sleep somehow, and I mean, there's no blood anywhere, it just doesn't make sense." Frank continued, taking Gerard's hand in his for comfort, because honestly, his head felt as if it was about to spin right off his shoulders in that moment, and with the scar on his side, he wouldn't even be all that surprised if it actually did.

"It doesn't." Gerard repeated, "come on, sit down, I think you should sit down," Gerard pressed a kiss to Frank's lips before leading him to the bed and sitting down beside him.

"Doesn't hurt though. It doesn't hurt and it hasn't bled- it's just... _there_. I mean, it hurts when you touch it like all injuries, but it doesn't hurt of its own accord." Frank glanced across at Gerard, "I mean it's _weird_ , but it's... it's... just a thing, I mean, maybe it's just... I don't know, maybe it's fine, somehow just fine."

Gerard shook his head: not quite so eager to brush it off. "Hey... this is gonna sound weird, but show me your foot," Gerard looked up at Frank, who could only raise his eyebrows back at him in response.

"Do you have a foot fetish or something?" Frank laughed it off a little, before pulling his foot up, and watching with even more confusion as Gerard made a grab for it, before pressing his fingers against a certain spot that Frank hadn't been even aware of. " _Fuck_." But it hurt, it fucking _hurt_ , and Gerard had barely touched it. "What the fuck was that?" Frank exclaimed, glancing at his foot and looking over a small reddened patch of skin in confusion.

"A burn." Gerard bit his lip, looking up at Frank, "this is something that's... kind of hard to explain, honestly I have no idea how it works, but do you know how I don't get injuries and well do you remember when I burnt that drawing and stood on it, and well... that's that burn," Gerard let out a sigh as he looked up to gauge Frank's reaction. "I saw it then but I didn't quite get it, and then it's happened a few times since but nothing major, nothing major enough for you to notice. I mean, it was fine, I was just making a specific effort _not_ to get hurt, and now this, and maybe it's the same, but I haven't..." Gerard trailed off, his face growing suddenly very pale, _paler_ , somehow.

"You haven't what?"

"No, that doesn't make sense-"

"What?" Frank exclaimed, "Come on, Gerard, none of this makes any fucking sense to me right now, what's going on?" He grabbed Gerard's hand a little too tightly perhaps.

"I was going to say that I haven't... that I haven't done that, that hasn't happened to me, and I mean, no it hasn't, not now, but I..." He trailed off, "it doesn't make sense, though, Frank, but-"

"But what?" Frank cut him off: a desperate look in his eyes.

"I did this once. When I was alive, though, I got really fucked up, and it was... it wasn't... I did that to myself, I... was pissed and upset and I never told anyone, but it... I don't know, I don't understand how that's here, and _why_. And where's the logic in this all, _seriously_?"

"You did..." Frank's eyes widened, glancing down at the scar on his side, " _fuck_ , Gerard, this is- fuck... fuck, fuck. When was this?" He insisted.

Gerard bit his lip, looking away, "about a week before, before I killed myself, I was in a bad place, I... I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry_? Fuck, Gerard, I'm so-" Frank pulled him closer again, "but how and why is it here, what the fuck? I mean... your injuries from now on me, makes slightly more sense, but..."

"But..." Gerard trailed off. "It was this room, right here, and- maybe it's this house, maybe it's, I don't know- maybe we shouldn't stay here."

"I don't know, Gerard, come on, fuck, what else did you do to yourself?" Frank found himself asking, and it was only then that the realisation really struck Gerard.

"Nothing much... except I... I... killed myself, didn't I?"

"It- though- it... was pills- _pills_ , that wouldn't-"

"I don't know, fuck, _Frankie_ , I don't know." Gerard pulled him into a hug, "maybe we should go. Maybe it's just this house, it'll be fine, I- pr-" Gerard stopped, realising he couldn't promise anything at all

-

The two of them: Gerard and Frank, had walked across town to a local park, in favour of getting away from the house and whatever unexplainable power it could possibly hold inside it, and sat down on a bench between two trees in an awkward silence: their minds consumed more than they'd care to admit with the matters of a certain scar of Frank's side, and a scar that had once been on Gerard's, and how it might all be coincidence and mess, and maybe- maybe it was just genuinely innocent, but how it really might not be.

Frank wondered what could possibly become of them, of him, of this mess, and was too caught up in his own head to notice the way the world around him to fade out or blur at the edges, like as if a painting: smudged slightly as colours bleed into one another due to careless, or perhaps only as you look closely.

And as it really dawned up him, he found himself considering if the whole world around him was indeed an illusion, or if it was just perhaps the tears pooling in the bottom of his eyes, which he was trying his best to ignore, but the world ensured he couldn't.

He didn't particularly fancy the idea of crying, in public, in front of Gerard, especially when Gerard knew why, and had gathered to some extent that it was his fault, and even if Frank didn't intend it to be as such, it really didn't matter, because Gerard was going to interpret things as _he_ pleased and nothing was going to stop him.

Frank didn't want Gerard to hurt; he didn't want both of them to cry, but he knew as he ached, Gerard did too - that was just how things worked now, with this connection between them, and for that, Frank found himself forced to smile, but it really hadn't worked that well.

He choked out a sob, biting his lip as he leaned back and into Gerard a little, watching as the world around him bled and faded together: a blur, a mess, a reflection of himself perhaps, crumbling and fading, and here he was, spewing fucking metaphor as he questioned everything.

He just wanted to be alright. He just wanted Gerard to be alright. For them to be alright, and Gerard had insisted that they would be, but Frank had insisted to himself that this only made evident that Gerard had no qualms with lying to save people's feelings.

And Frank didn't care for that.

Not now, not when it mattered.

Not as the world faded around him, and his head ached, and his whole perception spun itself on its head: the world taking him in as prisoner and then spitting him back out again, and as he stumbled to his feet, he found himself unable to make sense of it all, and as this all occurred: the weight of Gerard's hand in his didn't feel quite so heavy, quite so real, quite so present anymore.

And Frank didn't know what to think.

He didn't know what to make of it at all, as he found his eyelids almost forced closed and the world pulling itself out from under his feet, and the scene of a park soon replaced with a similar one, but inherently different.

He found himself somewhere instantly warmer: inside, he soon recognised, and that the similar scene was indeed just a window - grass and daffodils outside, but where he stood was in fact just a white corridor: far too plain in nature, perhaps not even real, and Frank didn't doubt the lack of reality, finding himself comforted in the warmth, whisked away, but on his feet, but this time alone.

And then, his body was moving before he commanded it to, which was really the world's most horrific sensation, but he soon found himself coming to terms with it as he accepted that nothing much could come of it - just a walk down a corridor, just through some double doors and into a larger room, with chairs, a waiting room of sorts, but empty, as if he was the only one waiting.

He didn't sit down, he simply stood there silent: his eyes instantly darting towards the wall, and finding his gaze locking upon a rather peculiar clock in the shape of a cat, which had perhaps been intended to be comical, but it honestly didn't fit the manner of the place at all, which wasn't exactly somber, but by no means comical, just plain, faded, washed out a bit, and unfamiliar, most of all, unfamiliar, despite the fact that Frank's feet knew exactly where they were going.

It was half past four. Thirty two past, to be exact, but Frank didn't find that necessary.

He then found his gaze shifting across the room, to a wooden door, with a sign that had once been taped to it, but had now fallen off for the most part, leaving only a few scraps of ripped paper clinging onto the door by two pieces of tape. He paused for a moment, before his feet were moving again: across the room, past the chairs, still alone, and to the door.

He found his hand hovering over the handle, as if such an action required hesitance: over-thinking, evaluating, and a great deal of his brain, and as if the act of opening a door was an important one. Perhaps it was, Frank didn't know the door, and what lay on the other side, but it seemed, it seemed his _body_ did, and he put trust in that, since he had no other guide.

However, eventually, after a few seconds had come to pass, he pushed down on the handle and pushed the door open, stepping inside and closing it behind him: another empty room, however, this time with fewer chairs and a table in the middle, and a desk in one corner.

The desk appeared abandoned, with work open on it: a folder and several sheets, and Frank found himself curious as to their contents, but he turned away from them, and instead made his way to the window. The window in this room was larger: spanning most of the height of the wall and perhaps a meter lengthways.

He pulled up the blinds and focused upon the scene outside: trees, grass, and what he assumed to be a lake, just a garden of sorts, but in far more colours, far more alive and real than the series of rooms and corridors he'd wandered through.

Frank remained bewildered as he pulled a key from his pocket: not even knowing he'd had pockets, let alone a key, but he didn't have really long enough to question such a simple thing, before he unlocked the window and pushed it open, letting a cool breeze into the room. He then let out a sigh, before proceeding to climb out of it, his body not seeming to care for the floor of the building below him, and the distance to the ground, doing its best to make it to a drainpipe and then down the rest of the wall.

Of course, he stumbled in the process of doing so, but made it to the ground alive, and with no injuries beside a scrape across his forearm: it started to bleed a little, but Frank only wiped at it, before pulling his sleeve down over it,

He stood there for a moment, taking in the world around him, the nature in particular, and the beauty, and odd familiarity of it all, almost losing himself in that moment, until of course, he found his attention drawn away and the little bubble of peacefulness broken with a call of his name.

"Frank?"

He turned: all too fast, the world blurring and fading around him.

" _Frank_?" And then a grip: tight around his shoulder.

And he turned again, the world blurring out as he did so, before fading to black.

From blackness, he found familiarity, _real_ familiarity in the form of the park, the park he had been sat in: the bench, and the grip on his shoulder Gerard, and he struggled to make sense of what he'd just seen.

He sat there, attempting to catch his breath, before nodding at Gerard, "yeah? I-"

He shook his head, glancing around him and finding comfort in the way the world seemed far more permanent and less flimsy this time, but still, he struggled to account for what he just occurred.

"What just happened?" He directed his worries at Gerard, because he honestly couldn't think of what else to do.

Gerard pulled Frank closer to him and let out a sigh, "you fell asleep, Frankie, that's what happened. I couldn't wake you for a good minute there - I got worried, baby. You seem really tired, did you not sleep well?"

Frank shrugged, "I think maybe I'm just stressed - you know, a lot to think about and all that-"

"Frank, it's going to be fine, I promise you." Gerard held his hand tightly: an odd sense of certainty behind his words, and that left Frank questioning, whether maybe, just maybe, he might be right.

"How do you know?" He asked, raising his eyebrows a little.

"I have a feeling." Gerard smiled: oddly positive, and Frank found a certain hope in that, and more than anything, perhaps he was just happy that Gerard was happy, because Gerard made him feel like everything had a chance of being okay, and when it wasn't like that, he was left with this weight in his chest in the form of helplessness.

"A feeling, huh?" Frank laughed a little at that.

"Yeah, and look, we're going to know, if... if things are going to fuck themselves up, because, I remember later that day... I... I... my arm, too... I... and, look," Gerard held up Frank's arm, almost as if it was a trophy, "you're perfectly fine. I think it's that house - you're going to be perfectly fine. We'll just go back to that place in the woods, is that okay? I'll talk to Mikey, attempt to explain."

Frank nodded, biting his lip. "I had a fucked up kind of dream, though," he let out a sigh, "an odd dream, it felt so real, it didn't feel like a dream at all: I was just here and then I was somewhere else, and there were corridors and empty rooms, and then this window that I climbed out of to see the plants and flowers in a garden outside, and then I woke up, and that doesn't sound like much, but it honestly _feels_ like a lot."

"I'm sorry, Frankie," Gerard pulled him closer, "you'll tell me if it happens again, won't you?"

Frank nodded, "course I will." He let out a sigh, "maybe I do just need sleep: proper sleep in a bed, our bed, not... your old bed, not in that room, not with all those memories, not with Pete and Mikey's screaming kids, maybe?"

Gerard smiled, "yeah, shall we go back?"

"Yeah." Frank nodded, getting to his feet, "could you stay with me in bed as I sleep? I know it sounds pathetic but I really don't like waking up when you're not there - it freaks me out."

"No, it's fine, Frankie, of course it's fine. I love you, you come first - before anything, before myself even-"

"Gerard, that's stupid, don't say that-"

"Come on, Frankie, I'm being realistic here: you're alive, and I'm not - it makes sense."

-


	33. The Trauma Continues

When Frank woke up, it felt like he'd been asleep for a thousand years, but his life was much less fairytale than that, but it honestly didn't feel all that much more real, which was something he just couldn't shake.

Sure, the appearance of the world, this time was real: the sunlight streamed into the room and illuminated only a portion of the room: their room, not Gerard's room this time, but their room, and that felt infinitely better already, not that Frank could pinpoint why - he just didn't feel as if he needed to.

He was okay, okay with the world, okay with himself, and beaming with the realisation of it all, and he stood there, alone in the sunlight, stretching a little for a good few minutes, listening to the sound of Gerard's footsteps downstairs; he had asked him to be there when he woke up, but he felt as if Gerard was making sure that Frank could hear him, and that was enough, in the overwhelming happiness he found himself almost _drowning_ in, it was enough.

The world outside was beautiful.

Frank had never paid nearly enough attention to the forest.

He'd just deemed it as that place.

The place he'd ran away to as a teenager.

The place Gerard had died in.

The place his mother's body lay.

But it was more than that.

That was simply what it was to him, and he was in charge of his own perception of things - that was the one thing he controlled, and he reveled in such powerful and such authority, even over himself, because you simply couldn't appreciate control over your own head until you'd lost it, and Frank had, more than fucking once.

Far too many times.

This was the recovery.

He reckoned, at least.

As he stood and smiled and just _breathed_ , because in that moment there was something simply beautiful about the sunshine and the trees and the way it was to be alive. He wanted this sensation to extend itself, to say with him, but he doubted that happening; he wondered if he should.

He wondered. He really did.

And he smiled. He really did.

He stretched upwards, brushing his hair away from his eyes: feeling properly rested for the first time in far too long - maybe it was this place, after all, it was evident that location could really impact things, even to an unbelievable extent.

Perhaps this was just the sweet spot, perhaps if they stayed here forever, they could waste away as everything remained okay: in bliss, in oblivion, as the world turned to hell and flames around them, they could live, and they could smile, in love, as long as the house stood still.

But that was far too fairytale, and no fairytale was complete without the horrifying twist, and such a realisation had not yet dawned upon Frank, and perhaps that was why he was just so startled as he rolled down the sleeves of the sweater he'd thrown on last night, because this house was fucking _cold_.

What startled him, was not the existence of his arms, because somehow he had indeed managed to get used to the presence of his upper limbs in the past twenty eight years of his life, but what lay upon them, upon _one_ of them.

What really should have never been there.

What certainly was not present the day prior.

What had appeared as if by magic, over night, and now lay, almost _smirking_ up at him: all raw and red and slashed up: gruesome in nature.

And it made Frank sick to his stomach, because it only really hit him then.

The scars.

Gerard's scars.

Gerard's doing: if only to himself several years ago, but his doing nonetheless, and Frank found himself looking down at his arms and trying not to cry.

He didn't know whether he was crying for himself or for Gerard: because he hated the notion of Gerard physically destroying himself like that, or because this confirmed Gerard's theory - the theory Gerard himself didn't want to believe in, but his theory nonetheless.

The one that indeed stated that this was somehow connected to him, that like everything else in this mess: Gerard's injuries were connected to Frank, and that every mark and every ail would soon before him.

And he stood there, less infinite, and far more licking a ticking time bomb, an unwilling suicide bomber, and still not scared, because it still didn't quite feel _real_.

The sunshine didn't look quite so beautiful anymore, though.

Hope diminished in seconds, and Frank stood there, as the sound grew closer: the sound of Gerard from downstairs, the sound of Gerard now upstairs, the sound of Gerard making his way inside, and the sound of Gerard noticing Frank stood there, and then his arms.

And finally, the sound of Gerard _crying_.

Because never once before had he ever hated the idea of being right _quite_ so much. because the thing was, Gerard was ruining Frank's life, Gerard was _killing_ him just by being stood there, perhaps this was a sick joke, the universe spitting him back out again, and there was just so very little he could do about it.

"I..." He stumbled out, unable to quite form a coherent sentence in his head, let alone aloud, and fuck, he felt response, he felt as if he owed Frank something, even if just an apology, or more realistic, the entire world.

"It's..." Frank bit his lip, "it's okay," he looked up at Gerard, "like you said, it's all gonna be okay, I believe you."

And Gerard wanted nothing more than to tell him that believing him was simply the worst thing he could do, but he didn't, because he couldn't bare to see Frank cry - not there, not then, not _ever_. He remained silent and stepped forward, pulling Frank into a hug.

"I love you." He told him, as if he didn't already know, as if it would change something.

"I know." Frank pressed his face into Gerard's shoulder and tried not to cry.

-

Gerard was locked up inside his own head as the two sat together in the biggest room of the house: their house, but really nothing like their house, because it was just a house they found themselves sleeping and perhaps living in.

It was just a house, and they were just people.

People. With everything stripped away: people. Two people who loved each other an awful lot and two people who were just so very scared, and not without reason.

Gerard couldn't shake the feeling that it was indeed his fault, because of course, without him ever having done those things to himself, they would never begin to appear on Frank- fuck, maybe this was some kind of sick punishment from God or something, cursing him for killing himself, because when you died and how you lived shouldn't be in your command, but it was, and this was Gerard realising that it was, along with the consequences of his mistakes, and of course, hating himself for making them in the first place.

And it was of course his job to figure this all out, make sense of it all and give Frank some form of solution, some form of escape, but he just... he just _couldn't_ do that. He couldn't think of anything, he couldn't get his mind to work when he needed it most and Frank had to live, or perhaps not, with the consequences.

And this was so much more than an apology.

This was a whole lifetime of an apologies.

A whole lifetime that neither of them had.

Because perhaps  this was just the ending of it all, and perhaps Frank just seemed too complacent, at ease, even, with that.

"I'm sorry." Gerard stammered out for lack of anything better to say, simply feeling Frank pulling closer into his side, and for what reason he'd couldn't quite decipher, because he didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve him - Frank didn't deserve this kind of hell and the fate that might befall him.

"It's okay." Frank found himself speaking what was indeed nonsense, because there was absolutely nothing about this all that was okay. "Well, it's... it's... it's just... I don't know." Frank threw his gaze around the walls, around the room, and let his thoughts fall through his head. "Maybe we should go somewhere. Maybe we should do something, maybe we shouldn't just let everything waste away."

"Maybe." Gerard found himself nodding, grasping tightly to Frank's hand. "I don't know where, though, I don't know what, though."

Frank nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest. "I don't know either. I want to run away. Remember when we did that when you were alive?"

"That was hardly the best experience, though, was it?" Gerard let out a sigh, narrowing his eyes a little.

"It'll be better this time." Frank said simply: somehow sure of it, although, it really wouldn’t take much for it to be, in all honesty. "Just get in the car again and _drive_ , and just..."

"And I'll fade away again, without my body- Think about that, Frank, maybe it's just better if we stay here-"

"How about we take your body with us." Frank said with a certainly unnerving certainty.

" _What_?" Gerard exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Is stealing your own body illegal?" Frank asked.

"You know, I think they might not have considered that law-" Gerard managed to force the words out: still in a state of wide eyed disbelief at the nature of the whole situation.

"So that means that it's not." Frank remained oddly calm throughout this all, "so we break into the graveyard at night and steal your body and just fucking put it in the trunk or something-"

"Frank, I honestly don't think you've-" Gerard let out a sigh, pulling his gaze away before continuing, "thought it through. You know, _seeing_ my body? My fucked up, decayed, rotting away corpse, and then putting it in the back of your car and driving out of state."

Frank went silent at that, picking at his shirt, "maybe not your body then," he said after a moment, "but I don't want to stay here, I don't want both of us to die here-"

" _Stop_ , shut up, you're not going to-"

"But I am." Frank told him rather plainly, "you can't avoid it anymore, can you? Avoiding it would be stupid - you know that."

"Yeah..." Gerard bit his lip, "kind of want to be stupid, though? I'm older than you, but not really. I'm still twenty two, barely an adult, so I shouldn't be able to handle responsibility-"

"You're thirty two." Frank met his gaze: his words stern. "You were born thirty two years ago. And it's as simple as that. You're an adult, start fucking acting like one."

"I can't be the solution to all your problems, Frankie, fuck, don't ask that of me-"

"I never asked anything of that sort." Frank let out a sigh. "I just... I just you to take responsibility, and not to be immature about things. That’s not hard, is it?"

"Difficulty is relative." Gerard said with a sigh, leaving Frank to raise his eyebrows at him in disbelief.

"Shut the fuck up." Frank met his gaze, " _responsibility_. Take some, and get over it, accept it, because if I can, then you sure as hell can too."

Gerard nodded, biting his lip and looking away. "I just want- I just want to fix things for you. I want you to be okay. I _need_ you, Frank. I love you, and I don't know what's going to happen to me after you... after you... you..."

"Always about _you_." Frank shook his head in disbelief, "always fucking about you, isn't it?"

"Sorry." Gerard shook his head, "I didn't mean that. You know I'm worried about you, you fucking know I'm sorry, and that I never meant for this to happen, I-"

"Gerard..." Frank shook his head, getting to his feet, "I need to think, I need some time alone - do you think you can fucking manage that? Just to let me go on a walk?"

"Of course." Gerard nodded, biting his lip, "come back, though, _please_."

"Of course I fucking will." Frank snapped, "you think one day I'm going to walk out of the house and then you'll never see me alive again? No, I'm not you, Gerard."

And Frank knew he was doing anything but making things easier for himself, but still, there were just somethings he couldn't stop himself from saying.

-

Only once Frank had actually left and gone on his walk, did he remember just how fucking much he hated walking, and just how much he did need Gerard with him, just to _be there_ , because Frank was awkwardly nervous and uncomfortable as he stumbled through the woods, pulling the hood of his hoodie up over his head and trying not to shiver too much, because the place was so much colder than he had remembered it being.

Frank's feet were far more in control than his mind was, leaving him somewhat lost and unsure of his surroundings within little more than a few minutes, but still, he didn’t let the aforementioned faze him, as he continued to walk: his footsteps something like determined to drown out the screaming in his mind, because he was anything but okay, fucking _anything_ but o-fucking-kay, and still, he'd lied, he'd lied to Gerard, because somehow that made something better: lying to Gerard, and lying to himself.

He wondered sometimes if Gerard perhaps meant too much to him, but he knew all too well, that there was little he could do about that anymore, that indeed, he had little time left to do something about that, not that he reckoned he could, because he needed Gerard, and that was plain and simple.

He needed someone to lie to as he lied to himself, someone to justify it, someone to hold him, someone to lie to him as he mind wouldn't cease to scream the truth, someone to ruin his whole fucking life, because it was evident he had difficulty in doing such a thing by himself.

He loved him.

There was no way around that.

And he would love him.

He would love him for the duration of every day he had left, and Gerard would apologise, and it wouldn't matter how badly, because he'd believe him, and he'd listen to it all; he'd take it all in, because he loved that man more than he could possibly even begin to comprehend.

And indeed, he wondered if it was indeed _that_ which was killing him.

However, he didn't have particularly long to ponder such a notion as he came to recognise his surroundings, and in particular a certain clearing. A clearing in which he'd spent too much of his teenage years, and a clearing that had perhaps saved and ruined his entire life.

He threw himself down at the foot of the oak tree, doing his best to expel every mental image from his mind as he did so, and of course failing in that matter, because the universe was everything _but_ on his side, that day, fuck that week, that year, that decade, that lifetime. Not that Frank had many lifetimes or anything equally as preposterous.

As he sat against the tree and threw his gaze across the tree line he found himself beginning to recognise what was little more than perhaps a _ripple_ in the fabric of existence: slightly warping the world with every footstep, and every footstep was indeed towards him.

He felt himself a little unnerved, unsure as to quite what to think, until lines were drawn by seemingly nothing in the dirt before him. It was as Frank watched that he began to draw meaning from those lines:

_'Hello. It's your mother._ '

Frank's heart practically jumped out of his chest: his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Can you hear me?" He tried, his voice quavering a little, as he look around, unsure quite where to focus his gaze.

_'Yes_.'Appeared in the dirt before him, however soon enough more letters were added: _'You're not healthy. I can feel it. What's wrong?_ '

Frank let out a sigh, not wanting his mother, of all people to know, because he didn't need tears, he didn't need to upset anymore people, and in turn fuck things up more than he had already done.

_'Frank, tell me._ ' She continued to write, clearly dissatisfied with his somewhat mortified silence.

"I don't know-" He stammered out what was easy the worst excuse in the world, but he could totally fucking roll with it, because _technically_ it was easier to lie to people who really loved you, because they were so much more inclined to believe you; they wanted more than anything to be believe you, and if that left things not quite adding up right, they'd look over it on favour of how they wanted things to be.

His mother was not like that, though.

_'You're dying_.' She wrote, _'I can feel it.'_

Frank swallowed, cursing a little, and regretting doing so instantly in the presence of his mother, "I... I'm sorry."

_'It's not your fault_.'

"It's no one's fault." Frank let out a sigh, biting his lip.

_'No._ ' She wrote: her writing somewhat scribbled, and faster, _'it's Gerard's. Don't let him ruin your life this time.'_

"What do you mean?"

_'If he never killed himself, you would still be okay, everything would still be okay. It's all cause and effect, and it all leads back to him. Don't forget that. Don't let him lie to you again._ '

"What do you mean?" Frank asked again, but this time there was no answer, and none for the next twenty minutes which Frank spent sat there, trying his best not to cry, like that somehow meant anything at all, even with all that had occurred.

-


	34. there's like one chapter left after this and maybe an epilogue idk yet

Somehow, he'd just stopped caring.

About the inevitability of death, what people thought of him, and what could possibly become of him.

It was awfully weird.

It wasn't like Frank found himself particularly welcoming any of these things, he just found that he was rather accustomed to them, complacent even, and he couldn't quite figure out what to make of that at all.

Or even what he could possibly make of the whole situation at hand, because what _was_ there to make of know that you were going to die in a few days? What was there to make of every cut and bruise open your body, and what was there to make of the man you loved, sat crying in shame and regret at the end of the room?

Honestly, Frank couldn't quite convince himself that this was even real.

That the whole world was real perhaps, which was certainly an odd situation to find himself in; a float statement between existence and non-existence, between life and death, and the wonders of what may lie in between, and the way time seemed to warp and curve as you reached the end of your life, as it did at the beginning: shorter or longer than it should be, as if perhaps the whole being of your life was spherical, cyclical, going round and round, and round, and time simply warping in order to try and catch up.

Catch up with you, and whatever hell you might fling yourself into.

But Frank didn't care about that, about hell: metaphorical hell, or 'real' hell with Satan and fiery pits and torture and pain, because if hell felt like anything at all, it was this silence and the look of pain on Gerard's face and the rather blunt fact that Frank couldn't do anything about it.

He didn't even try to speak to him, because he knew Gerard would spew out thousands of apologies and start crying as he did so, even finding himself tempted to storm out and fuck this all up, because Gerard was definitely taking it worse than Frank.

Gerard was _feeling_ it.

Gerard was reacting like he had done when he was alive.

And honestly none of those things made any sense, but they really weren't Frank's number one priority in that moment, but maybe they should be.

Because gradually, it had been happening: slowly, it was coming back to Gerard - emotion, feeling, pain and reaction, as everything seemed to fade away from Frank - a balance of power, two magnets that had once clicked but were now polar opposites, and perhaps Frank _really_ should have noticed that.

Not that it was Gerard's fault, because he'd been so caught up in _feeling_ emotion to notice that he was indeed feeling emotion and recognise that logically, he shouldn't be capable of such a thing anymore. Which was perhaps ironic, although irony was particularly irrelevant in such a situation.

Because the thing was, neither of them knew what could and what _would_ become of this, because there was no escaping the inevitable, and the inevitable was indeed some kind of chaos, some kind of fuck up, some kind of balance or imbalance of power - _something_ , and Gerard, although run rampant and ruined, fuck, _crippled_ by emotion, knew that.

Frank did too.

Frank did too as he sat on the floor of the room and struggled to focus on the mere objects before him, on the simplicity of the world, on the concept of reality and _living,_ and even Gerard, because everything kept going fuzzy and out of focus, and he kept closing his eyes, just to blink, and opening them again to see twenty minutes had passed.

To put it simply: somehow, he was fading: fading away into nothingness, and perhaps he was dying, but not dying normally, not how he die: dying as a result of wounds and injuries not inflicted by himself but by the man across the room who kept sketching furiously: thick black marker pen lines and striking harsh scenes, that Frank hadn't really captured enough of a glimpse of, because even in a state such as the one he found himself in now, he felt inclined to appreciate Gerard's artwork, because it was _always_ worth appreciating.

Gerard himself, was _always_ worth appreciating - through the good and the bad, through heaven and through hell, through life and through death, and at whatever funeral could come of this all.

Because it was all too much. It had _all_ been too much: too much and too soon - harsh and unfair, but firm and solid - a fixed event, as Frank faded away, and Gerard caught his eye less often, and the two shared only sorrowful looks and the distance between them grew larger: both physically and emotionally.

Because Gerard all of a sudden, just couldn't bare it: the thought of this all and what he'd done, and the mess he'd made, and how it was undeniably his own doing, his own fault, and how it was this time not just the collapse of himself but the collapse of Frank, because the two were linked: linked more so than they could ever have known, and one lifetime, one death, two deaths, even the whole universe couldn't put a stop to that.

But neither of them quite knew it to its full extent: regarding it as love and care and piecing together what they knew the best they could, and it was a good enough guess, but it was far off, because there was love, but what lay between them was _so_ much more than love: it was deep within them, in their souls, connected through heaven and hell and what lay in between, as the two found themselves flung into place after place and world after world, until finally things began to add up.

And they hadn't, not yet, as Gerard was crippled with anger and disappointment, and _love_ , and everything he'd ever hated, and found himself unaware: blissfully unaware, until, until he wasn't.

Because it was as simple as that: a flick of a switch, and the end of the world, in a simple sentence - simple words, that deconstructed the entirety of reality:

"I think I can feel again. Emotions. Anger. Pain. Love. Sadness. Regret."

And in response, Frank looked up, however with only one emotion within him - fear.

-

Because this wasn't how it was supposed to be. This was the last way in which it was supposed to turn out. This was the last way it _could_ turn out.

Frank couldn't think this possible, and yet, it was: it was blindingly obvious, and evidently possible as it took the form of the truth before his eyes.

He didn't know what to think at all; he didn't even know why thinking was expected of him anymore, as he didn't expect thought of himself, only the inevitable end to everything he'd ever known, and the way that even now, reality was determined to continue to fuck with him until there was really _absolutely_ _nothing_ left of him.

Left of them, and the seeming rift they'd created in the universe: determined that Frank Iero and Gerard Way were simply something that just couldn't be, and opposed to that view point as Frank naturally was, it wasn't like he just couldn't see where the universe might be coming from because of course he could, because of course, it seemed the universe made more sense than him: more sense than them - more sense than Gerard being alive still - after all of this, after he'd practically been to hell and right back again, but somewhat always really there, just perhaps stood in the doorway to reality.

Whatever it was, however they fitted together, however things didn't - he could see how this had all meant to end when he was eighteen, and still,  he could see that it was unfair, and he was beyond thankful that it hadn't, up until now perhaps.

Because perhaps there was a set way for things to be - perhaps there was a set direction for the world to turn and perhaps this was him fucking with it - perhaps this was him ruining the world, and perhaps this was him paying the price.

And perhaps he'd known that all along, and perhaps he still wasn't ready, because perhaps Frank loved him, and perhaps he was scared.

Something was going on with Gerard too, and Frank hadn't a clue what - perhaps that was Gerard's job to discover, how he seemed to almost be fading back into existence, right as Frank seemed to fade away, which was the definition of bittersweet, for sure, if there ever was one, and Frank owned it: together they owned it as the world around them crumbled into pieces, and they could only hold hands in the ash and hold tight and cry for what had gone, and cry for what was left.

Because they were scared. Hand in hand and they were scared. Gerard scared not just because Frank was, but because he could feel it: fear, running real through his veins, and he wondered whether if a large proportion of said fear was constructed only due to the fact hat it was there in the first place, because here he was: suddenly on fire with emotion when there'd been nothing at all: fucking nothing left for him at all, and now the whole world, and it _hurt._ After ten years it fucking hurt, and burned in his chest.

Because maybe this was what it was like to be alive again, and suddenly Gerard's death and that day with those pills was no mystery to him anymore - he couldn't feel like this - he couldn't handle a world intensified by human inadequacy and tendencies to fall in love and make mistakes. Of course, he still did those, but this was a thousand times worse, and when he looked at Frank, it was like the whole world was melting: caving it, twisting and contorting to emphasise and highlight his mere existence and Gerard wanted to know why, and he wanted to know how.

He needed to know how a world like this could possibly be physically possible, how people could live for eighty years like this, how it all seemed to real, and coloured in, when he was accustomed to black and white - it was simply all too bright, and it was stinging - not just his eyes, but the whole of him, and he couldn't bare the world like that, as they sat there and Frank seemed to fade away a little before.

And Gerard was truly scared. Scared like never before. Scared like no one before. In the whole world.

"What's going on?" Frank stuttered out, glancing around, biting down on his bottom lip in an attempt to feel something but indeed getting nothing at all. And he'd expected as such, but still he'd tried because Frank wanted something: needed anything: reluctant to let the whole world just fade away, as it seemed insistent to.

"I don't know." Gerard was forced to respond, because he didn't; he didn't have a clue, when Frank needed him, and Frank needed answers he had nothing to say for himself. At the end of the world. At the end of them, he had nothing, and there would be nothing as a result of that. And in the very same way, nothing he could do to stop it.

"I.... I...." Frank stumbled out, his breath suddenly heavy as he held up his arm, "I..." He glanced down at the marks upon it: marks that hadn't been there before.

"That's not right." Gerard insisted: something he did know was the rate at which he'd destroyed himself because he'd died.

"What do you mean?" Frank asked, running a finger over the scars: red and in a great multitude.

"That's not how it happened." Gerard told him, biting his lip and jumping a little at the feeling: at the _sensation_ , at the suddenly _reality_ of it all, because it _hurt,_ and he hadn't hurt in so long that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like entirely. "Those weren't until- is... it... speeding up?"

Frank looked down at his arm in horror. "What? How? _Why_?"

"I don't know." Gerard let out a sigh again. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm useless, this is useless, but I don't know. I don't fucking know at all."

"So how long do you think I could have left-"

"Frank, don't, _please_." Gerard pleaded: his eyes sad, and his body echoing with melancholy, and he seemed to tremble all over with sensation and feeling, and perhaps felt as if he should be overjoyed but nothing about this was worth celebrating at all.

"Gerard- it's not like... it's not like not saying the word is going to _fix_ it, is it?" Frank raised his voice, "it's just... inevitable, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily-"

"You'd say your death was inevitable, wouldn't you, though?"

Gerard nodded, because he'd say that even now, especially now as he ached with feeling, and the whole world just _hurt_ , because it wasn't fair, not that the world had ever said it could be fair - Gerard just expected that of it, because there was nothing stopping him from just _hoping_ , was there?

"I love you. Come here. Please." Gerard's gaze softened as he gestured for Frank to make his way across the room and meet him. "I love you." He repeated, as if once hadn't been enough to convince Frank, and took his hand, grasped it tight, and hated every moment of this, but adored every part of him, because what on earth was going on, and _how_ on earth was it _fair_?

"I love you too." Frank forced his face into a smile as he leaned into Gerard's holding onto him and feeling the world stabilise around him a little as he did so, having given up when it came to attempting to decipher what the world was throwing at him now, as he saw little hope in it, and he indeed saw little hope in himself, just in the same way he saw little hope for himself.

"It could- What am- I... what's going to... happen... how could- I what- what are we supposed to do? Just sit here and wait and watch you fade into nothingness or _die_ , or whatever, or whatever could possibly happen, because I don't know, and I don't know how I could possibly be expected to just deal with that like it's nothing because it's fucking _worlds_ away from nothing, and you know that don't you? You fucking know that I'll hurt, I mean, if I don't fade away with you, I mean- I don't know one single fucking thing and I don't fucking like it, and I know for _sure_ that it's not fair."

"Who ever said life had to be fair?" Frank asked, meeting Gerard's gaze, "who ever said death had to be fair? I think maybe you still being here, you staying here with me was a mistake, and not in an offensive way, I just... maybe it wasn't how things were supposed to be, and maybe this is the universe fixing that mistake, because maybe one of had to die in the grand scheme of things."

"Then why not me?" Gerard asked: his voice shaking, "and how the fuck do you sound so calm? So collected? Like it's nothing?"

"I don't know..." Frank trailed off, "my emotions don't really feel real anymore. It's weird. This is all weird. I just know that I love you, Gerard, I love you so much-"

"And what?" Gerard exclaimed, holding Frank in his arms as they sat in the room of a house they didn't own: of a house no one owed, of a house abandoned, a house abandoned like them. "You’re okay with dying at twenty eight? With nothing to say for yourself? With a world unknown and unexperienced?"

"What else could I possible accomplish in life? There's very little for me. I fucked my life up pretty early and pretty easily. You're my one good thing, and I'll miss you like hell-"

"At twenty eight." Gerard reiterated. "That's too young."

"It's not twenty two." Frank reminded him: not speaking with malice, just with truth, because yes, twenty two and twenty eight were six years apart. "I'm not the one who died at twenty two-"

"But I'm still _here_ -"

"But you didn't want to be." Frank told him, "and if you were alive again, age thirty two, you'd kill yourself in an instant: we both know that, and it's okay, because I'm trying to understand and I think I do. It's hard - life is _hard_ , and you've always struggled - you feel things more than other people do, it's like you really absorb emotions instead of letting them just flow through you, and yet you act as if they bounce off you and you brush them away. There had been that facade, and who you thought you were at twenty two and how that _never_ really worked out."

"It's not fair." Gerard insisted, screaming at a god he could never quite believe in as he ran a hand back through Frank's hair, "you mean the whole world."

"And so do you." Frank told him instantly, glancing down at his arm and noticing another set of scars that had just appeared.

"I shouldn't-"

"But you do." Frank stressed, "you do, and I mean this, and I love you, and I just want to say..." Frank's eyes widened a little: feeling a sudden harsh sensation at the back of his throat: an odd kind of burning, and he felt himself choking on his words and his body caving in upon itself as he made a grab for Gerard's hand but missed, and his eyelids grew heavy and the world cascaded into darkness.

There had been nothing. And then something. And then everything. And then nothing once more.

It was the end of the world - but only through this set of eyes.

-


	35. get ready to get rekt

He isn't awake.

He isn't asleep, either.

He isn't sure if he's breathing; he isn't sure if he's living.

He's just sure of the shades of autumn around him.

Of the fuzzy nature of the world: out of focus, not quite real - and he suspected that it wasn't, but he couldn't find the means to care, or even respond to such a thing.

He found himself seeming to fall apart and drift, as if his body was compromised entirely of gas as opposed to solid matter, as he found nothing inherently composed or real about himself anymore: simply shifting and changing with every movement- not a step, not walking, just _moving_.

Moving through the world that slowly faded into something recognisable: a certain street, a certain street that Frank owed everything to, and yet nothing. The very street he'd grown up upon, and the very street everything had fallen apart upon.

And then his vision blurred: faded, and he wasn't there anymore.

A front garden. His front garden. Once his. No one's now.

An empty house, that once they'd all lived together in, and then just him and his father, and then just his father. And then none of them at all.

The house appeared empty, and the door began to creak upon in invitation of sorts to Frank, who found himself with little choice as to whether he wanted to go inside or not.

The door closed behind him, and the first thing Frank really took note of was just how _dark_ it was: a never ending, omnipresent kind of hopeless darkness, that seemed to dictate the room, and indeed the whole world: claiming everything it fell upon, and ridding the room of safety and comfort, and everything once known.

Because darkness was foreign, and darkness was impenetrable, and darkness was not something he trusted, but something that he didn’t' have much choice in trusting or not at all.

And then, the alternative.

And perhaps the alternative was worse.

Because the bright light was too bright indeed, with no obvious source and intent upon illuminating the entire room, and bringing light upon what should have remained in the shadows, and the scene before him did indeed appear as if a drawing of some sorts, devoid of shadows, uncanny, not quite real, but making a damn good shot at appearing so.

And then suddenly, he was elsewhere.

White room: white walls, voices he didn't recognise, and a different feeling to his existence, as if he was wearing someone else's skin, perhaps, not that such a thing could be possible, not that possibility held much worth anymore.

Not that anything held much worth anymore in this odd kind of not real state, because the thing was, Frank wasn't really conscious of anything at all, because this was perhaps closer to a dream than anything else: a concoction, his own head's doing, but before him a scene he didn't recognise and couldn't place.

White walls, and shouting, _yelling_ , and daffodils: a certain kind of spring scene, and then nothing at all: darkness, the same darkness, and then _breathing_.

Not his own. He couldn't breathe anymore; he found himself oddly aware and unquestioning of such a fact.

It was someone else breathing.

Perhaps that was simply a far more pressing matter.

"You're back."

The voice was more pressing, still.

Familiar, and striking whatever was left in Frank.

Because this voice was one that he could never forget: one that haunted him his whole life, one that belonged to his father - a dead man, who stood in the darkness beside him.

"I..." Frank's words lodged in his throat, as he spoke they felt more like thoughts with more presence, as opposed to sounds that effected the world somehow.

"Twenty eight." He continued, letting out a sigh, "shame, don't you think? Twenty eight, and that's it. She was hardly much older. Your mother."

"And it was _your_ fault." He spat, attempting to grow angry and respond 'appropriately' but he found every attempt at emotion fizzling out within a few seconds.

"No." He told him rather blankly. "She fell. And I buried my wife. And that hurt me."

"I don't fucking care-"

"Doesn't matter whether you care or not, Frank." With the mention of his name, the words seemed to cut into him a little. "It fucking happened."

Frank felt a weight within him: pulling him down, somehow, not that physical matter or being seemed to hold any meaning at all in whatever state he found himself in currently.

"She came back. She made it hell for me." He continued, "when she was dead, she came back, and I kept seeing her again. I couldn't deal with that. She wouldn't explain, she wouldn't talk, just yell. And you paint her out as the picture perfect mother but no one is perfect and you never really knew her."

"Don't say that-"

"It's true. You were seven. You don't understand things at that age." He continued, "it was hard for me. It was hard for both of us and she wasn't helping. You weren’t helping either. You only ever asked for her. You never wanted me, and how was I supposed to tell you that she was gone and not make myself out as a villain somehow."

"You became that villain." Frank told him, rather bluntly, with little care because this all held so little meaning.

"It was hard not to-"

"That's bullshit-"

"I don't what you think, Frank. None of it matters now. None of it matters at all anymore. This is the end, this is your ending, and you're here." He scoffed a little, "seems like you must be here for a reason, can't think what it is. Sure as hell isn't me, I just happen to be here, and it seems like you might have to deal with me."

"So what is... what is..." Frank stumbled over his words. "What is going on?"

"Who knows? It's all in your head, isn't it, Frank? Who knows? I'm not real. This isn't real. Nothing's fucking real, is it, Frank? Who knows what's going on?"

"I-I-...." Frank stumbled over his words and the world around him began to flicker and change as he did so: his father, white walls, his bedroom, flowers in spring, his garden, a room with too many chairs, his kitchen, a room with one chair and a man, turned away from him.

And back where he stood.

His father turned away from him.

Out of hatred or whatever, Frank didn't care - Frank _couldn't_ care. There was no sense to be made. There was nothing to be made.

There was nothing left to make anything from.

Nothing left besides a slight hint of sunlight in the dining room, and Frank's feet consequently drawn there of their own accord, and Frank was at this point, utterly beyond protest, and perhaps even just letting the world inflict whatever it saw fit upon him without a single but, and in a world where second thoughts were not just disregarded but indeed non-existent.

This was, of course, also a world in which _he_ was non-existent.

Not really, not anymore.

He had indeed figured that out - not directly, but it was there, at the back of his mind, just waiting for him to stumble over it in time, and time was indeed running out, but there was no news there: time had been running out since the moment time became time itself, because there had always been a beginning, and there would always be an ending.

It just happened so that Frank found himself in the onslaught of such an ending: unprepared, but complacent, because anything besides complacency was redundant in a world viewed dull and in tones steadily growing closer to black and white.

And Frank was okay with that: okay with that all, because he lacked the ability for anything besides okay and mediocre: complacency - a life of complacency without the aspect of life at all, and therefore nothing in essence.

Because that was what this was: the end of the world, and the light growing brighter and Frank loosening his grip upon the world as his father stood behind him: never smiling, because he'd never warrant his son that, not even now.

Because this was the father that could _never_ be proud of him, and Frank was the boy who was the product of that kind of self-criticism and over analytic hatred, and together they stood in evidence that there'd been no hope from the start, and that although responsibility definitely lay in Gerard's hands, that it didn't lay in his alone.

Frank was unsure upon the matter of fate, but the world was so much more than what one man thought. This was the doing of such a thing: this was a sickening kind of fairytale with every twist and turn and sickly plot twist, and all for another's amusement - an odd kind of sadistic amusement, and Frank didn't want to accept such a thing, and it was true, he didn't have to, because this was the darkness and the light and the final closing of his eyes, because true, he stood in his dining room with his father behind him, but the walls weren't made of brick.

The walls were made of nothing at all, and as Frank focused upon them, they did indeed disintegrate and fade not into black, but an absence of everything all together, because closing his eyes and seeing black would be a wish at this point, but what did wishes mean to a man who disregarded fate and luck and the possibility of there being more to the world than what he could see immediately before him?

But what did it all matter now, in a room made of nothing at all, because what is a room made of nothing: constructed of zeroes - just that, nothing at all, because there is no father behind him, there is no light, and there are no racing thoughts, as there is indeed no him, not really, not anymore: this is the reflection in the glass - the one last corner of his universe that light still shone in, but in time: in minutes now it would fall dark just like the rest.

And Frank was aware of this all, but not consciously so, because it was so much easier to look at the ceiling and see a ceiling, and not look past it and see the reality in this all, because in moments like these, reality held about as much weight in Frank's chest as a feather, because perhaps if this was all reality consisted of, Frank was far more interested in the own concoctions of his mind - but who could blame him? The peace of fakery, and unconsciously so, because your mind would chose safety and comfort even in what it knew to doubt: covering up the slight ripples in things for the illusion's sake - for your own sake.

A gift. An odd one, though, but not one Frank could ponder. Not one he wanted to, either.

But there was no room for want anymore. Want was too strong: want would indeed rip down the walls of this house, the walls of this illusion.

Because it had always been this house, because his mother was many things, and many of them were far from perfect, but there was definitely one thing his mother was not, and that was a liar.

It had always been this house, and not just from that moment, not just with what she'd said to Gerard, not just with his disregard, but from the moment he'd taken his first breath, from the moment his heart had first beat, because it was all this odd kind of fate that Frank didn't believe in.

It was this odd kind of fate that Frank didn't have to believe in anymore, as the house indeed assured that: assured him safety in his own head, because there was nowhere safer than your own home, and yet for Frank, there was nowhere worse. Frank had found everything in this building, and safety was not in abundance, for sure, and now, he was just complacent, not quite meeting his father's gaze.

But that man wasn't his father.

That man was nothingness: that man was the concoction of his own mind, and to an even larger extent now, he knew that, and he grew comfortable with it, because he much preferred a false version of that man to the reality, because the reality of his father had been his very own Satan, and those words held meaning - those words held too much meaning and began to _ache_ as Frank uttered them, not even aloud, just to himself.

Because the thing was, Frank couldn't talk anymore.

Frank couldn't _move_ anymore. He couldn't walk. It was just a matter of imagining himself in different places- and his father was gone. And the walls were crumbling and the world was adding up around him.

His heart began to ache further, and he wondered if he might look down and see his chest beginning to bleed. Of course, he wouldn't, because in this state, he lacked the capacity to do such a thing, much as he lacked a physical form: as these were indeed just thoughts- not even thoughts, just echoes: what was left, decaying and fading so very rapidly now, as the whole world fell into nothingness.

His father was gone, and Gerard was gone and-

_Gerard_.

And Frank's chest ached like his heart longed to tumble right out. His stomach began to burn, and this was feeling, but no feeling at all: this was pain, but in reality, little more than an echo of it.

_Gerard_.

A ringing in his ears, and his head snapping up: the ceiling, and the ceiling fan, and where his father truly lay, and where it seemed he would too.

And then, he couldn't quite remember what Gerard looked like anymore, and that was him being cut up inside, but cut up more physically in the form of further red slashes down his arms, but indeed none of this held any meaning and any sense at all, but he just let it happen, because he could feel it now: everything fading out around him - the knowledge that he didn't need to face this all for much longer.

And then his throat. And his stomach. His inside burning out: a fire with no match and a screaming that wasn't from his lungs, and once glance up at the ceiling fan.

No one there. No one there at all.

He couldn't quite remember what his father looked like either anymore.

He couldn't quite remember what he himself looked like either.

And, finally, he couldn't quite recall why that mattered.

And in that, nothingness: no more burning, no more room: no more house, no more Gerard, no more father, no more _him_.

Before him: the beginning, and now, the end.

-

A sudden feeling of regret, a sudden feeling of nausea, a sudden feeling that this couldn't possibly be happening as his eyes focused upon the scene before him: one constructed of simple bright shapes that didn't quite compute inside his head, like when you look at a word and it's just _shapes_ \- it doesn't mean anything at all.

In the aftermath, that was the whole world, and the aftermath of what - that was unclear - unclear like his vision: blurred together were the colours, and then washed out in places, and indeed all topped off with an odd sense of deja vu.

And the lack of possibility in how a shade of white could be familiar, and how familiar and comforting worked as antonyms through his eyes, in that moment, and perhaps may more to come.

A headache, and feeling, a stomach ache, and cursing, and words, because suddenly words kick started in his head as if he had simply forgotten the entire English language, which was perhaps an overstatement, but there was no judging that, and there was no worth in his own bias, and there was little worth in anything at all, because perhaps this was all foreign to him now as he stood there: dark hair, hazel eyes, and a craving for a cigarette.

Because he remained uncertain as to whether this was the ending, or if this was indeed the beginning.

He focused on the matter of nicotine, however, simply because it was the easiest thing to, and he was never one for unnecessary levels of effort and such, and with that notion, he followed the wall with his fingertips upon it: focusing on the sensation, because this was _feeling_ and this was so foreign, and the world grew brighter, and he began to stumble a little as he made it through a  pair of double doors.

He found his hands travelling to his pockets in search of a cigarette, in search of anything really, but he found nothing at all, besides the evident disappointment, of course.

However, his mind was indeed soon consumed by something else, and that something else took the form of voices, and those voices spoke words: words at first he struggled to tune into, words he couldn't quite manage to contemplate in full force before another set of double doors - across the room from him - swung upon.

And from these doors, in walked two men: one, relatively short with blonde hair and a face that seemed to blur out as he attempted to focus upon it, and then the man beside him... the man beside him made the whole world stop, because if what lay around him were little glass fragments - he was the glue that might stick this all back together.

As he began to focus upon the man's face, he found his head spinning and a hole even beginning to burn through it, allowing certain things to seep through and connect in the mess of clustered and nonsensical thoughts up there. And in the chaos, he breathed, in the chaos, he breathed and found a certain familiarity and comfort within the man.

The man stopped immediately as they locked eyes: an odd expression upon his face - a sense of deja vu, but something he struggled to place. The same went for Frank, who stood there at the door, confused, in want of a cigarette, and in utter unknowing in regards to his surroundings and the world in general, looking upon things with eyes that acted as if they had perhaps never seen the colour green before.

The colour red, however.

The colour red made itself exceedingly striking, and oddly familiar.

The colour red held significance beyond words, even as confusion and mystery filled the room like toxic gas: the two stood there - locked eyes, confusion, a whole world, and white walls, and Frank didn't know this man's name, he barely even knew his own, but he did indeed know that certain shade of fire truck red hair.

-

THE END

-


End file.
